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HIDDEN   WINGS 


OTHER    STORIES. 


BY     T.    S.    ARTHUR. 


NEW   YORK: 
SHELDON    &    COMPANY, 

335  BROADWAY  (COB.  OF  WOETH  ST.) 
1864. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864, 
BY  SHELDON  4  CO., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


ALVOED,   8TEEEOTTPEE 


"PS 


LIST   OF  SERIES. 


L    HIDDEN  WINGS,   AND    OTHER  STORIES. 
II.    SOWING-  THE  WIND,  AND  OTHER  STORIES. 
m.    SUNSHINE  AT  HOME,  AND   OTHER  STORIES. 


CONTENTS. 


HIDDEN  WINGS 

II. 


THE  RICH  MAN'S  BENEFACTOR. 


m. 

MORE  NICE  THAN  "WISE 81 

IV. 
THE  ENVIED  LOT 97 

V. 
THE  Two  LEGACIES 1.15 

VI. 
CATCHING  A  SUNBEAM v 154 

vn. 

LIKB  HIS  WIFE.  . .  . .  168 


8  CONTENTS. 

VIIL 
THE  DISCIPLINE  OF  MISFORTUNE 181 

IX. 
WORK  AND  WORRY 198 

X. 
TELL  TOUR  WIFE 212 

XL 
UNCLE  PHIL'S  REMEDY.  . .  231 


HIDDEN  WINGS, 

AND  OTHER  STORIES. 


HIDDEN  WINGS. 

"UGH!"  said  Aunt  Lucy,  stepping  "back  a 
pace  or  two,  and  drawing  her  garments  aside, 
while  an  expression  of  disgust  came  over  her 
face ;  "what  a  horrid  olbject !" 

The  object  which  had  so  excited  Aunt  Lucy 
was  a  little  girl,  about  six  years  old,  whom 
Margaret,  our  cook,  had  found  sitting  in  the 
area.  She  was  leading  her  in  by  the  hand. 

I  turned,  at  Aunt  Lucy's  exclamation,  and 
saw  the  child.  She  was,  certainly,  not  beau- 
tiful; very  far  from  it,  actually  repulsive. 
Her  clothes  were  ragged  and  dirty,  her  feet 
bare,  and  covered  with  mud.  Her  face  might 
have  been  washed  within  a  month,  but  that 


10  HIDDEN     WINGS. 

was  rather  donlbtfal.  As  for  her  hair,  the 
time  of  its  last  acquaintance  with  a  comb 
might  be  set  down  as  entirely  problematical. 
Yes,  the  child  was  repulsive  in  every  way. 

"What  on  earth  did  you  bring  that  crea- 
ture in  here  for  ?"  inquired  Aunt  Lucy,  speak- 
ing to  Margaret. 

"She  is  a  poor  lone  little  body,"  replied 
the  cook,  in  a  sympathetic  way,  "wet  and 
hungry,  and  I  thought  I'd  just  give  her  a 
bite,  and  let  her  warm  herself.  Nobody' 11 
be  any  the  worse  for  it,  I'm  sure." 

I  felt  the  force  of  Margaret's  closing  re- 
mark, and  said — 

"True  enough,  nobody' 11  be  the  worse  off 
for  an  act  of  kindness.  Let  her  sit  down  and 
dry  her  wet  clothes,  and  if  she's  hungry,  give 
her  something  to  eat." 

The  little  thing  looked  at- me  gratefully,  and 
shrunk  towards  the  fire.  It  was  June,  but  a 
northeasterly  storm  had  been  blowing  for  the 
past  two  days.  The  sky  was  full  of  rain,  and 
the  air  chilly  as  November. 

Feeling  certain  that  the  poor  child  would 


HIDDEN     WINGS.  11 

"be  well  cared  for  by  my  kind-hearted  cook,  I 
left  the  kitchen,  accompanied  by  Aunt  Lucy. 

"A  very  imp  of  ugliness !"  exclaimed  Aunt 
Lucy,  as  we  entered  our  pleasant  sitting-room, 
the  walls  of  which  were  hung  with  pictures, 
the  mantel  ornamented  with  rich  vases,  while 
objects  of  taste  and  luxury  crowded  the 
apartment.  One  of  these  was  an  exquisite 
statuette,  representing  a  child  asleep  among 
flowers.  Certainly,  nothing  could  have  been 
in  stronger  contrast  than  the  kitchen  we  had 
just  left,  with  the  living  child  there,  and  our 
elegant  sitting-room,  with  this  sculptured 
form  of  innocence  and  beauty. 

"Only  the  outside,  Aunt  Lucy,"  said  I; 
"the  hard,  coarse,  unlovely  husk.  There  are 
germs  of  beauty  beneath  all  that." 

"Beauty!    Pah!" 

Aunt  Lucy's  face  was  not  very  charming 
as  she  said  this.  The  beauty  of  her  soul  was 
veiled  for  the  moment. 

I  tried  to  talk  with  her  about  the  innocence 
of  childhood. 

"Unlovely  as  that  poor  creature  is  in  your 


12  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

eyes,"  said  I,  "  there  are  "beneath  the  surface, 
hidden  away  from  your  view  and  mine,  the 
elements  of  which  angelic  life  is  formed. 
There  is  a  human  soul  there ;  wonderful  and 
mysterious  thing,  with  its  almost  infinite 
amount  of  capabilities !" 

"  Oh,  dear !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Lucy,  "don't 
get  away  off  there  out  of  my  reach,  with  your 
infinite  capabilities,  and  all  that.  It  takes 
you  to  see  angels  in  dirty  beggar-girls.  But 
my  eyes  were  never  so  sharp-sighted." 

"  There  may  be  things  in  heaven  and  earth 
not  dreamed  of  in  your  philosophy,"  said  I. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  replied  Aunt  Lucy, 
in  a  half-amused  half- vexed  manner.  "I'd 
be  a  very  wise  woman  if  that  wasn't  so.  I 
don't  pretend  to  know  much  about  what  I 
can't  see.  Eyes  are  very  convenient  things, 
and  I  reckon  I've  got  a  pair  sharp  enough 
for  all  practical  purposes.  Seeing  is  believ- 
ing." 

I  gave  Aunt  Lucy  a  pleasant  smile  and  left 
the  room,  feeling  interest  enough  in  the  "hor- 
rid object,"  as  my  relative  had  called  the 


HIDDEN    WINGS.  13 

"beggar-girl  in  the  kitchen.  Descending  to 
Margaret's  domain,  I  found  the  child  sitting 
"before  the  fire,  a  large  slice  of  "bread  in  her 
hand,  which  she  was  eating  with  the  keen 
relish  of  hunger. 

"Where  do  you  live?"  I  asked,  in  a  kind 
voice. 

"  I  don't  live  nowhere,  now,"  was  replied, 
in  a  tone  that  touched  my  feelings. 

"  Don't  live  anywhere !"  my  voice  express- 
ed surprise.  ' '  How  is  that  ?' ' 

"I  lived  with  old  Mrs.  Kline  "before  sister 
died,  Ibut  she  says  I  shan't  stay  there  any 
longer." 

"  Where  is  your  mother  ?" 

"I  haven't  got  any  mother,"  she  answered, 
lifting  her  eyes  to  mine.  There  was  a  low 
quiver  in  her  voice,  falling  almost  to  a  sob, 
as  she  uttered  the  word  "mother."  My  in- 
terest was  increasing. 

"No  mother «"  I  looked  at  her  with  pity 
in  my  heart. 

"No  ma'am,"  was  her  simple  reply. 

"Your  mother  is  dead?" 


14  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

"Yes,  ma'am.  She  died  a  great  while  ago, 
when  I  was  only  a  little  baby.  Mrs.  Kline 
took  sister  and  me.  Jane  worked  for  her 
until  she  got  sick ;  then  Mrs.  Kline  was  cross, 
and  said  she'd  send  her  to  the  poor-house. 
But  she  didn't,  and  sister  died." 

The  child  sobbed  again,  and  tears  ran  over 
her  soiled  and  homely  face. 

1 '  When  did  your  sister  die  ?"  I  asked. 

"Last  week,  ma'am." 

"And  Mrs.  Kline  won't  let  you  live  with 
her  any  longer?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"When  did  she  send  you  away ?" 

"  She  sent  me  away  yesterday." 

"Yesterday!  And  where  have  you  been 
since  yesterday?" 

"A  woman  let  me  sleep  on  the  floor  last 
night,  but  said  I  mustn't  come  there  any 
more ;  if  I  did  she'd  send  me  to  the  station- 
house." 

"Poor  thing!"  said  I,  pityingly,  speaking 
to  myself.  "This  is  indeed  a  cruel  lot  for 
one  of  such  tender  years.  What  hope  is 


HIDDEN    WINGS.  15 

there  for  a  child  thus  abandoned — thus  thrust 
out  and  left  to  the  mercies  of  a  hard  and  self- 
ish world?" 

I  believed  the  little  one's  story.  Though 
unlovely  in  aspect ;  in  fact,  dirty  and  repul- 
sive to  the  sight,  there  was  truth  in  her  tone 
and  manner.  She  was  not  deceiving  me.  I 
had  a  duty  to  perform,  and  saw  it  clearly. 
God's  providence  is  over  all  his  children, 
the  humblest,  the  poorest,  the  meanest;  not 
even  a  sparrow  falls  unnoticed  to  the  ground. 
I  felt  that  he  had  laid  upon  me  the  duty  of 
caring  for  this  little  one,  whose  soul  was  as 
precious  in  His  eyes  as  the  soul  of  one  of  my 
own  dear  children.  The  case  was  plain.  I 
could  not  shut  my  eyes  and  turn  away,  and 
yet  be  innocent. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  I  asked, 
again  speaking  to  the  child.  I  wished  to  see 
what  was  in  her  thoughts,  if,  indeed,  she  had 
any  thought  about  the  future. 

"I  don't  know,  ma'am,"  she  answered, 
with  a  perplexed  look.  "I  suppose  I'll  have 
to  beg." 


16  HIDDEN    WIN0S. 

"Haven't  yon  any  "better  clothes  than 
these?" 

"  No  ina'am,"  she  replied,  looking  down  at 
her  miserable  garments. 

I  stood  musing  for  a  little  while,  turning 
over  in  my  thoughts  what  was  "best  to  "be 
done.  The  decision  was  soon  made. 

"Margaret,"  said  I,  "take  her  up  to  the 
"bath-room  and  wash  her  thoroughly.  I  will 
find  something  better  for  her  to  put  on ;  and 
Margaret,"  I  added,  as  I  was  leaving  the 
kitchen,  "I  think  you  had  better  cut  that 
hair  off  pretty  close." 

Margaret  said  "yes  ma'am,"  with  a  hearty 
good- will,  that  showed  her  feelings  to  be  as 
much  interested  as  mine.  So  I  left  the 
kitchen  and  went  up  stairs  to  look  through 
my  drawer  for  some  suitable  garments  to  re- 
place the  filthy  rags  I  had  directed  to  have 
removed.  I  found  what  I  required,  and 
leaving  them  in  the  bath-room  returned  to 
Aunt  Lucy. 

Now  my  relative  was  something  of  a  char- 
acter in  her  way.  A  very  literalist  in  her 


HIDDEN    WINGS.  17 

modes  of  interpreting  the  common  events  and 
common  aspects  of  life.  She  usually  judged 
of  people  as  she  saw  them  on  the  outside. 
"It's  no  use,"  she  would  often  say,  "to  be 
worrying  yourself  albout  what' s  in  people,  if 
they  don't  choose  to  talk  it  out  and  let  you 
see  what  they  think  and  feel.  Show  me  what 
they  do,  and  I'll  get  at  their  quality,  fast 
enough." 

All  this  was  very  sensible,  of  course,  but  it 
meant  less  as  uttered  by  Aunt  Lucy  than  if  it 
had  been  said  by  some  other  person.  She 
thought  herself  very  shrewd  and  sharp,  while 
I  thought  her  shrewdness  and  sharpness  often 
led  her  to  forget  the  dictates  of  humanity. 
But  she  had  her  good  points,  and  among 
these  was  a  scorn  of  deceit  and  pretension. 

"I've  done  many  good  deeds  in  my  time," 
was  one  of  her  common  remarks,  "and  have 
helped  lots  of  people  in  distress ;  put  faith  in 
beggars  through  the  whole  range  of  halt, 
lame,  and  blind,  and  came  out  cheated  in  the 
end.  There  is  no  virtue  in  the  tribe.  When 
a  man,  Voman,  or  child  sets  up  to  live  on 
2 


18  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

alms,  that  moment  lie  or  she  ceases  to  be 
truly  honest.  There  is  only  one  fair  way  to 
make  a  living  in  this  world,  and  that  is  to 
labor  for  it ;  your  vagrants  should  Ibe  sent  to 
the  work-house." 

"Where  have  you  been ?"  said  Aunt  Lucy, 
as  I  came  into  the  sitting-room.  She  looked 
on  me  sharply  and  curiously;  at  the  same 
time  there  was  a  little  dropping  of  the  under 
lip,  and  the  appearance  of  an  amused  smile 
lurking  about  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"In  the  kitchen,"  I  replied,  trying  to  re- 
tain the  gravity  of  my  countenance,  for  I  saw 
what  was  in  her  thoughts. 

"Looking  after  that  inward  beauty  you 
talked  about  a  little  while  ago?"  "Aunt 
Lucy  glanced  at  me  quizzically. 

"Margaret  is  washing  off  the  dirt,"  I  re- 
plied, laughing ;  "after  a  while  I  will  go  and 
see  what  she  has  found  beneath.  The  fair, 
pure  skin  of  a  tender  child,  I  guess." 

"JSTow,  you  do  beat  all,"  exclaimed  Aunt 
Lucy.  "You  don't  say  that  Margaret's  got 
that  little  wretch  in  the  bath-tub  3" 


HIDDEN    WINGS.  19 

"Yes." 

"Well,  go  your  way,  child!  you'll  Ibe 
wiser  one  of  these  days.  I  suppose  you 
intend  dressing  her  up  ?" 

"I  shall  try  to  make  her  decent  and  com- 
fortable," said  I. 

"And  how  long  do  you  suppose  she'll 
keep  so  ?"  demanded  Aunt  Lucy ;  "  I  can  tell 
you." 

"How long?"  Tasked. 

"About  thirty  minutes  after  she  leaves 
your  door ;  not  a  fraction  of  time  longer." 

"I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Don't  you  ?  Then  I  will  enlighten  you  a 
little.  They'll  strip  the  clothes  from  her  the 
moment  she  gets  home,  and  send  her  out  in 
dirty  rags  again." 

I  smiled  to  myself,  but  did  not  answer. 

"  You  don't  believe  it?" 

"No,"  I  answered  quietly. 

"Well,  please  goodness  !  but  you  are  cred- 
ulous. I  know  the  habits  of  these  creatures 
better  than  all  that." 

I  did  not  reply,  but  sat  turning  over  in  my 


20  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

mind  the  ways  and  means  of  rescuing  this  un- 
fortunate child  from  the  life  of  vagrancy  to 
which  she  had  seemed  destined.  There  was 
an  Asylum  for  orphan  children  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. I  had  passed  it  often,  but  never 
gave  the  institution  any  special  thought. 
Now  it  assumed  a  just  importance  in  my 
eyes.  I  determined  to  make  a  visit  there  this 
very  day,  and  see  upon  what  conditions  its 
inmates  were  received. 

In  about  half  an  hour  Margaret  came  in 
with  the  metamorphosed  child. 

"Who  is  that?"  asked  Aunt  Lucy,  not  re- 
cognizing, on  the  moment,  the  beggar  girl  she 
had  been  denouncing. 

"What  is  your  name?"  I  asked,  taking 
the  little  one  by  the  hand,  and  looking 
with  rekindling  interest  into  her  homely 
face. 

"Ellen,"  she  replied. 

"You  saw  her  down  stairs  a  little  while 
ago,"  and  I  looked  at  Aunt  Lucy. 

"Oh!  ah!" 

My  relation  seemed  a  little  bewildered. 


HIDDEN    WINGS.  21 

"  Take  her  down  to  the  kitchen.  I  will  "be 
down  after  a  while." 

Margaret  left  the  room. 

"Wonderfully  improved!"  My  aunt  did 
not  speak  as  if  she  were  wonderfully  pleased. 
"But,  oh,  dear!  you  can't  make  any  thing 
out  of  them.  There's  an  old  fable  about 
washing  a  pig.  They  put  on  any  quantity  of 
soap  and  water,  but  it  would  not  wash  out 
the  swine  nature.  The  pig  was  a  pig  still, 
and  took  kindly,  after  its  release,  to  the  next 
mud-puddle.  So  it  will  be  with  your  pro- 
tegee. That  impish  little  face  tells  the  whole 
story." 

"There  is  a  human  soul  there,"  said  I, 
seriously ;  "and  the  soul  of  a  child  is  always 
beautiful.  The  face  may  be  unlovely,  the 
form  ungainly,  and  the  whole  outward  ap- 
pearance repulsive.  But  hidden  beneath  all 
this  are  forms  of  exquisite  grace  and  germs 
of  the  highest  excellence." 

But  Aunt  Lucy  had  no  patience  with  me. 

"Talk— all  talk,"  she  replied,  "and  waste 
words  with  me." 


22  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

So  I  changed  the  subject  to  one  on  which 
we  were  likely  to  have  no  disagreement. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  storm  having  cleared 
away,  I  dressed  myself  to  go  out,  and  made  a 
visit  to  the  Orphan  Asylum.  I  was  pleased 
with  every  thing  I  saw  there,  and  more  pleas- 
ed at  being  able  to  gain  admission  for  the 
child,  whose  destitute  condition  had  awaken- 
ed my  interest. 

About  a  week  after  this  time  Aunt  Lucy 
and  I  were  sitting  near  an  open  window, 
through  which  the*  soft,  warm  air  of  a  bright 
summer  day  was  pressing.  Suddenly  my 
sunt  started,  with  an  expression  of  shudder- 
ing disgust  on  her  countenance,  and  pointing 
to  the  skirt  of  her  dress,  exclaimed : 

"Ugh!  just  look  at  that  horrid  thing! 
knock  it  off!" 

I  glanced  down  and  saw  a  caterpillar. 
Aunt  Lucy  was  quite  excited  about  the  harm- 
less little  creature ;  but  I  stooped,  and  hold- 
ing my  handkerchief  close  to  her  dress, 
gently  removed  it.  As  I  rose  up,  I  said, 
still  looking  at  the  unsightly  animal, 


HIDDEN    WINGS.  23 

"There  is  not  much  beauty  here,  cer- 
tainly." 

"Throw  it  out  of  the  window !"  exclaimed 
Aunt  Lucy,  her  face  still  expressing  strong 
disgust. 

But  I  held  the  now  motionless  creature 
close  to  my  eyes,  and  examined  it  curiously.  It 
was  nearly  Iblack,  with  rough  protuberances 
all  over  the  body.  These  were  surmounted 
by  thorny  looking  hairs,  which  gave  it  a 
spiteful  and  venomous  aspect.  If  I  had  not 
been  looking  deeper  than  the  surface  I  should 
have  felt  as  great  a  repugnance  to  the  animal 
as  did  Aunt  Lucy.  But  I  saw  more  than  the 
simple  larva. 

"Why  don't  you  throw  it  out  of  the 
window  ?  It  will  bite  or  poison  you !" 

"No  danger  of  that,"  I  returned ;  "if  not 
handsome,  it  is  at  least  harmless,  and  carries 
in  its  bosom  a  world  of  beauty." 

And  saying  this,  I  stepped  into  the  garden, 
and  plucking  a  few  poplar  leaves,  brought 
them  in  and  laid  them  upon  the  window-sill. 
Placing  the  caterpillar  upon  one  of  them,  it 


24  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

commenced  eating  immediately,  cutting  away 
the  tender  pulp,  and  leaving  bare  the  thread- 
like fibres. 

"  See  here,  Aunt  Lucy,"  said  I,  "isn't  this 
curious?" 

"What?"  and  she  came  and  stood  looking 
over  my  shoulder.  "  What  is  curious  ?"  she 
repeated. 

"Just  see  how  eagerly  it  devours  that 
leaf." 

"Humph !  I  don't  see  any  thing  so  strange 
in  a  caterpillar  eating,"  replied  my  aunt, 
in  a  contemptuous  way.  "You  can  see  that 
going  on  by  the  wholesale  out  in  the  garden, 
at  any  time.  Do  kill  the  hateful  thing !" 

"No,"  said  I,  a  new  thought  coming  into 
my  mind.  "I'm  going  to  watch  its  trans- 
formation." 

"Its  what?" 

"Its  change  from  ugliness  to  beauty  ;"  and 
taking  up  the  leaf  upon  which  it  was  feeding, 
I  carried  it  carefully  from  the  room  and  up  to 
my  chamber,  where  I  placed  it  in  an  open 
box.  For  two  or  three  days  I  kept  the 


HIDDEN    WINGS.  25 

greedy  thing  supplied  with  leaves,  the  soft 
portions  of  which  it  removed  in  the  most 
perfect  manner,  leaving  delicate  fibrous  skel- 
etons— curious  relics  of  its  destructive  work. 
On  the  third  day  it  "became  sluggish  and  re- 
fused to  eat.  I  then  placed  it  in  a  small  Ibox 
perforated  with  holes  to  admit  air,  and  left  it 
to  undergo  that  most  wonderful  of  all  changes 
which  animated  nature  presents.  On  exam- 
ining the  Ibox  a  few  days  afterward  I  found 
that  my  caterpillar  had  disappeared,  "but  in 
its  place  was  a  compact  silky  mass.  I  could 
not  but  look  upon  this  with  feelings  of  aston- 
ishment and  admiration.  What  strange  in- 
stinct !  what  singular  skill !  The  animal  had 
woven  for  itself  a  winding-sheet  of  exquisite 
fineness. 

I  did  not  show  my  cocoon  to  Aunt  Lucy. 
I  wanted  to  surprise  her  with  something 
more — I  wished  to  reveal  to  her  the  hidden 
wings,  star-gemmed  and  rainbow-hued,  which 
had  been  folded  up  in  the  body  of  that  repul- 
sive worm,  the  life  of  which  she  had  asked 
me  to  crush  out.  There  was  a  lesson  in  all 


26  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

this  for  me — a  lesson  for  her  also,  if  she 
would  only  read  it.  My  hope  was  that  the 
page  would  exhibit  lucid  truth  for  her 
eyes. 

Daily  I  examined  my  chrysalis  for  signs  of 
the  new  birth.  This  was  continued  for  more 
than  a  week,  when,  one  morning,  in  lifting 
the  edge  of  the  lid  carefully,  I  saw  the  glitter 
of  painted  wings.  Without  unclosing  the 
box  I  carried  it  down  to  the  sitting-room. 

"I  have  something  to  show  you,  Aunt 
Lucy,"  said  I,  my  face  all  aglow  with  plea- 
sure. 

"What  is  it ?"  she  asked ;  "a  new  bracelet 
from  your  extravagant  husband  ?" 

"  Something  more  beautiful  and  more 
wonderful  than  any  bracelet  ever  formed  by 
the  hand  of  man,"  I  replied. 

« '  Well,  what  is  it  ?    Don' t  mystify  me. ' ' 

"I  don't  mean  to.  You  remember  the 
ugly  caterpillar  I  took  from  your  dress  a 
week  or  two  ago?  Here  it  is,"  and  I  un- 
covered my  box,  when  out  flew  a  butterfly. 
Sailing  gracefully  across  the  room,  it  alighted 


HIDDEN    WINGS.  27 

on  a  heliotrope  that  was  "blooming  in  the 
window,  and  sat  there  gently  fanning  its  deli- 
cate wings,  which  were  of  a  dark  purplish 
color,  dotted  with  blue  spots  and  surrounded 
with  a  bright  yellow  border. 

Aunt  Lucy  struck  her  hands  together  and 
exclaimed,  "What  a  beauty!  Why,  it's  a 
mourning-cloak!"  and  she  moved  across  the 
room  and  stood  looking  at  the  insect  ad- 
miringly. 

"If  I  had  killed  the  caterpillar  you  would 
never  have  seen  this  butterfly." 

She  turned,  and  looked  at  me  inquiringly. 

1 '  Caterpillar !    I  don' t  understand  you  ?' ' 

"I  told  you  there  was  beauty  hidden  in 
the  repulsive  creature, — delicate  wings  of 
exquisite  texture  and  color  folded  up  in  that 
writhing  little  body." 

"There  now,  child,  do  talk  in  plain  com- 
mon sense  language  !  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Simply  and  plainly,  that  the  worm  I 
brushed  from  your  dress  was  the  larva  of  this 
mourning-cloak.  I  fed  the  caterpillar  on 
poplar  leaves  until  it  was  ready  for  its 


28  HIDDEN    WINGS.      - 

change,  then  laid  it  in  this  "box  to  spin  its 
cocoon.  You  see  here  the  silken  envelope 
through  which  the  insect  has  cut  its  way." 

Aunt  Lucy  was  taken  by  surprise.  I  im- 
proved the  opportunity  to  say : 

"There  is  a  lesson  for  us  here.  We  must 
not  judge  too  hastily  from  what  lies  merely 
on  the  surface,  whether  of  things  or  persons. 
There  is  an  inner  as  well  as  an  outer  life  ;  the 
unseen  as  well  as  the  visible ;  and  it  is  not 
always  that  the  visible  gives  to  common  sight 
a  true  representation  of  the  invisible.  There 
are  rudiments  of  a  higher  life  than  first  mani- 
fests itself  in  every  individual  that  is  born. 
If  there  is  so  much  loveliness  hidden  in  a 
caterpillar,  what  may  we  not  look  for  in  a 
human  soul?  Two  weeks  ago  there  was  a 
greedy,  destructive  worm,  that  fed  itself  on 
coarse  bitter  leaves  with  an  insatiable  ap- 
petite ;  but  now  it  has  been  transformed 
into  an  airy  being  that  floats  on  the  lightest 
zephyr,  and  sips  honeyed  nectar  from  flower- 
cups  more  exquisitely  painted  than  china  of 
Sevres." 


HIDDEN    WIXGS.  29 

I  paused,  and  my  aunt  looked  at  me  with 
the  air  of  one  in  slight  bewilderment. 

"Two  weeks  ago,"  I  continued,  "a  dirty 
little  Ibeggar-girl,  repulsive  enough  to  look 
upon,  came  to  our  door.  I  think  you  felt 
toward  her  very  much  as  you  felt  toward 
the  worm.  You  manifested  the  same  dis- 
gust at  her  foul  and  unsightly  aspect. 
I  suggested  that  there  might  Ibe  something 
"beneath  the  surface  more  attractive  than  met 
the  eyes.  But  you  saw  only  a  vagrant,  on 
whom  all  kindness  would  be  thrown  away. 
I  felt  differently  and  thought  differently.  I 
looked  below  the  surface  and  saw  hidden 
wings,  destined,  it  might  be,  to  unfold  in 
spiritual  atmospheres." 

"I  hope  it  may  all  come  out  so,"  replied 
Aunt  Lucy,  with  something  subdued  in  her 
manner;  "but  if  you  find  any  wings  about 
that  creature  you  will  make  a  wonderful  dis- 
covery. She  isn't  the  kind." 

"Tune  will  show,"  said  I,  as  I  pushed 
open  the  window  and  let  my  little  prisoner 
float  out  into  the  garden. 


30  HIDDEN    WIXGS. 

Time  passed  on,  and  my  good  aunt,  who 
was  not  much  wiser  for  the  lesson  I  had  en- 
deavored to  teach  her,  continued  to  judge 
of  things  in  her  old  way.  She  did  not  forget 
the  caterpillar  and  "butterfly,  however,  nor 
my  homely  little  protege  of  the  dirty  face  and 
ragged  garments,  slyly  asking  me  now  and 
then  if  I  saw  any  signs  of  the  "hidden 
wings."  I  must  confess  that  after  I  had 
gained  admission  for  the  child  in  the  Orphan 
Asylum,  my  interest  for  her  albated.  I  had 
done  all  that  common  charity  required  me  to 
do  for  the  little  outcast,  and  it  is  not  surpri- 
sing that  the  a~bsorlbing  cares  and  duties  of 
my  home  caused  me  to  forget  her  almost  en- 
tirely. 

Aunt  Lucy,  who  was  my  mother's  sister,  a 
spinster,  and  past  the  age  of  fifty,  did  not 
mellow  and  sweeten  with  advancing  years. 
There  were  asperities  in  her  character  which 
the  attrition  of  life  failed  to  remove.  Loneli- 
ness and  some  hard  experiences  had  tended 
to  narrow  her  thoughts  into  a  small  circle, 
and  she  grew  more  selfish  and  less  kindly  in 


HIDDEN    WINGS.  31 

her  feelings  toward  others  as  she  grew  older. 
Her  presence  often  threw  discord  into  our 
family  circle,  and  I  had  frequently  to  come 
between  her  and  other  members  of  our  house- 
hold, and  soothe  with  kind  words  the  feel- 
ings she  had  jarred. 

It  is  ten  years  from  that  wet  June  day  on 
which  our  story  opens.  Aunt  Lucy  is  sick — 
hopelessly  bed-ridden,  and  requiring  almost 
constant  attention.  I  had  tried  my  best  to 
make  her  comfortable,  to  win  her  thoughts 
away  from  herself,  to  inspire  her  with  pa- 
tience, to  throw  into  her  gloomy  and  com- 
plaining mind  some  rays  of  sunshine ;  but  I 
failed  utterly.  She  was  peevish,  dissatisfied, 
and  always  imagining  herself  neglected.  The 
truth  was,  she  had  so  little  about  her  that 
was  attractive,  and  so  much  of  the  repellent, 
that  no  one  went  to  her  room  except  in  obe- 
dience to  the  voice  of  duty.  At  last  my 
husband  insisted  upon  our  procuring  a  nurse, 
whose  sole  business  should  be  to  attend  upon 
the  invalid.  A  middle-aged  woman  was 
obtained,  but  Aunt  Lucy  quarrelled  with  her, 


32  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

and  she  threw  up  the  situation  in  less  than  a 
week.  Then  another  was  found,  but  the 
result  was  the  same ;  a  third,  and  she  left  in 
three  days.  I  was  in  despair. 

Thus  it  was,  when  one  day  a  plainly  dress- 
ed girl  between  sixteen  and  seventeen  years 
of  age  entered  my  sitting-room. 

"You  don't  know  me,"  she  said,  seeing  I 
looked  at  her  strangely. 

"  I  do  not,"  was  my  answer. 

"My  name  is  Ellen." 

"Ellen?  Ellen?"  I  said  in  an  inquiring 
tone.  The  girl  was  a  stranger  to  me.  I  had 
no  recollection  of  ever  having  seen  her. 

"Don't  you  remember,"  she  said,  "the 
poor  little  girl  you  were  kind  to  many  years 
I  have  been  in  the  Asylum  ever 


I  looked  at  her  in  surprise.     I  had  scarcely 
thought  of  her  for  years. 

"Are  you  that  poor  forsaken  little  child?" 
"  I  was,  ma'am,"  she  answered,  with  a  tre- 
mor in  her  voice ;  "but,  thanks  to  your  good- 
ness, I  am  something  better  now.     I  must 


HIDDEN    WINGS.  33 

leave  the  Asylum,  "but  I  could  not  go  without 
seeing  you  and  telling  you  of  the  gratitude 
that  is  in  my  heart.  I  pray  for  you  every 
day,  ma'am,  and  ask  God  to  "bless  you  for 
your  kindness  to  a  friendless  orphan." 

I  was  deeply  touched  by  this  unexpected 
visit  and  acknowledgment.  I  arose,  and 
taking  her  hand,  looked  into  her  plain,  un- 
attractive face,  that  was  all  alive  with  feeling, 
and  said : 

"  And  this  is  Ellen  ?  Your  thanks  and  gra- 
titude are  more  than  a  double  reward  for  that 
one  act  of  kindness  that  cost  me  so  little. 
And  you  are  going  to  leave  the  Asylum  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am;  as  soon  as  I  can  find  a 
place." 

"  What  do  you  intend  doing  ?"  I  asked. 

"I  should  like  to  get  a  place  as  chamber- 
maid, or  to  do  plain  sewing." 

I  thought  of  Aunt  Lucy,  pushed  the  thought 
from  my  mind — thought  of  her  again,  and 
said: 

"Could  you   undertake   to  nurse  an  old 
lady  who  is  sick  ?" 
3 


34  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

"I  am  too  young  and  inexperienced  for 
that,"  she  replied. 

I  looked  down  and  mused  for  some  time. 
It  hardly  seemed  right  to  put  one  so  young  to 
such  hard  service  as  an  attendant  on  Aunt 
Lucy.  I  had  the  girl  in  my  power,  bound  Iby 
the  strong  chain  of  gratitude,  and  I  was  not 
generous  enough  to  release  her.  So  I  told 
her  of  my  sick  relative,  and  my  desire  to  pro- 
cure a  nurse ;  asked  her  to  take  the  situation 
and  gained  her  consent.  On  the  next  day  she 
was  an  inmate  of  my  family. 

During  the  first  two  or  three  days  Aunt 
Lucy  was  captious,  ill-natured,  fretful,  and 
difficult  to  please ;  "but  Ellen's  patience  never 
wearied,  her  feet  never  tired,  her  hands 
never  hung  down.  She  was  kind,  thought- 
ful, and  gentle.  I  looked  on,  and  now  and 
then  spoke  a  word  of  encouragement  or 
excuse,  but  I  found  Ellen  more  ready  even 
than  myself  with  excuses  for  the  unhappy, 
self-tormenting  invalid. 

"  She  is  old  and  sick,  and  in  pain,  ma'am," 
Ellen  would  answer  me,  "and  that  is  sad.  I 


HIDDEN    WINGS.  35 

pity  her  too  much  to  grow  impatient.  We 
must  bear  with  the  infirm  and  the  suffering." 

In  the  second  week  affairs  in  Aunt  Lucy's 
room  began  to  put  on  a  new  appearance. 
The  old  lady  was  softening— the  hardness  of 
her  nature  giving  way.  Sunshine  had  been 
around  her  for  many  days,  and  its  warmth 
was  penetrating  the  frozen  surface  of  her 
heart.  She  complained  less,  was  less  fretful, 
easier  to  please,  and  had  longer  seasons  of 
quiet  and  calmness. 

One  evening,  in  passing  the  door  of  her 
chamber,  I  heard  Ellen  reading  aloud.  The 
door  stood  slightly  ajar,  and  I  stopped  to 
listen.  Her  tones  were  loud  enough  for  me 
to  hear  distinctly.  She  was  reading  the 
twenty-third  Psalm,  beginning,  "The  Lord  is 
my  shepherd ;  I  shall  not  want."  Every 
word  of  that  beautiful  Psalm  was  familiar  to 
my  ear;  I  had  heard  it  read  a  hundred 
times — read  by  the  preacher  and  read  by  the 
child.  But  never  did  its  impressive  lan- 
guage come  to  my  heart  with  such  a  fulness 
of  meaning  as  it  came  now,  borne  on  the 


36  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

low,  tender,  reverent  voice  of  that  stranger^ 
girl. 

She  paused  at  the  last  verse.  There  was 
stillness  for  a  few  moments.  Then  I  heard 
Aunt  Lucy  say,  in  a  mild,  subdued  tone — so 
mild  and  subdued  that  I  hardly  recognized 
it — "  Read  on,  child  ;  it  does  me  good." 

And  Ellen  read  on — 

"The  earth  is  the  Lord's,  and  the  fulness 
thereof;  the  world,  and  they  that  dwell 
therein." 

She  went  on  to  the  close  of  that  chapter, 
when  she  paused  again. 

There  was  another  brief  period  of  silence, 
when  I  heard  Aunt  Lucy  say, 

"Thank  you,  child;  that  will  do.  I  shall 
sleep  now." 

I  passed  on  noiselessly,  my  heart  full,  and 
new  thoughts  pressing  into  my  mind. 

"The  wings  are  unfolding,"  I  said,  "the 
inner  beauty  revealing  itself.  Aunt  Lucy,  in 
her.  blindness,  would  have  crushed  the  worm 
which,  in  its  transformation,  now  gladdens 
her  eyes  with  its  beauty." 


HIDDEN    WINGS.  37 

Shall  I  go  on,  reader  ?  No !  the  lesson  is 
complete.  Daily  I  observed  Ellen,  and  saw 
that  she  was  influenced  "by  deep  religious 
feelings ;  that  there  had  "been  a  "birth  of 
spiritual  life  in  her  soul,  and  that  this  life 
was  putting  on  the  outward  forms  of  that  true 
charity  which  not  only  suffereth  long  and  is 
kind,  but  shows  its  heavenly  origin  in  a  faith- 
ful performance,  from  unselfish  motives,  of 
every  known  duty.  I  did  not  have  to  re- 
mind Aunt  Lucy  of  the  error  she  had  commit- 
ted ;  she  saw  it  herself,  and  many  times 
spoke,  half  sadly  and  half  wonderingly,  of 
the  change  which  a  few  years  had  wrought. 

"I  would  have  spurned  her  once,  as  a 
thing  offensive  to  the  sight,"  she  said  to  me 
one  day,  as  her  eyes  followed  Ellen  from  the 
room  ;  "and  now  she  has  grown  into  an  angel, 
and  blesses  me  daily  with  her  heavenly  min- 
istrations." 


HIDDEN    WINGS. 

n. 

THE  RICH  MAN'S  BENEFACTOR. 


A  POOE  man,  miserably  clad,  was  trundling 
a  wheelbarrow  load  of  stones.  The  day  was 
hot  and  sultry,  and  the  sweat  poured  in 
streams  down  his  wasted,  sun-burnt  face. 
He  looked  labor-worn  and  discontented.  His 
load  was  heavy,  and  as  the  wheel  jarred  over 
the  inequalities  in  his  way,  the  jerkings  and 
contortions  of  his  body  were  painful  to  look 
upon. 

An  elegant  carriage,  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
sleek,  fat  horses,  drove  by.  In  it  sat  the  rich 
owner  of  many  thousands  of  acres.  His  face 
wore,  also,  a  look  of  discontent.  Different  as 
was  his  lot  from  that  of  the  indigent  day- 
laborer — surrounded,  as  he  was,  by  all  exter- 
nal means  of  happiness,  waited  upon,  minis- 
tered to,  courted,  flattered — he  was,  if  the 
truth  were  known,  no  happier  than  the  poor 
complainer  he  had  swept  heedlessly  by. 


RICH  MAN'S   BENEFACTOE.  39 

Two  men  were  sitting  at  the  window  of  a 
cottage,  and  saw  this  passing  phase  of  human 
life. 

"Poor  Jim  Coyle,"  said  one  of  them;  "I 
always  pity  that  man." 

"And  poor  Edward  Logan,"  said  the  other; 
"I  always  pity  him." 

"You  waste  your  pity,  then,"  remarked 
the  other,  whose  name  was  Howard. 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  was  replied; 
"  in  my  view  old  Mr.  Logan  is  more  entitled 
to  sympathy  than  Jim  Coyle,  for  he  is,  I 
think,  the  most  miserable  of  the  two.  And 
where  there  f  is  most  wretchedness  there  is 
most  need  of  pity." 

"Let  him  pity  himself,"  said  Howard,  a 
little  sharply,  "if  he  stands  in  need  of  that 
sentiment.  I'll  waste  none  upon  him.  Hav- 
ing all  the  means  of  happiness  within  his 
reach,  if  he  don't  choose  to  enjoy  himself, 
why,  that's  his  business,  not  mine.  There 
are  enough  of  the  hopelessly  and  helplessly 
wretched  to  look  after." 

"  None   more   hopelessly   and   helplessly 


40  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

wretched,  in  my  view,  than  Edward  Logan," 
said  the  other,  whose  name  was  Strong. 
"True,  he  has  the  means  of  enjoyment,  in 
rich  abundance  around  him,  and  the  same 
may  be  said  of  Jim  Coyle.  Both  are  un- 
happy because  they  fail  to  use  aright  the 
God-given  powers  they  posess." 

"I  should  like  to  see  the  rich  abundance 
possessed  by  Jim  Coyle,"  said  Howard,  look- 
ing at  his  friend  with  some  surprise. 

"  The  sources  of  happiness  are  not  found  in 
the  mere  possession  of  this  world's  goods, 
else  would  the  rich  only  be  in  felicity,  while 
the  poor  would  be  doomed  to  a  joyless  life. 
The  true  means  of  delight  can  be  had  in  as 
great  abundance  by  the  one  as  by  the  other. 
Your  Jim  Coyles  may  be  as  happy  as  your 
Edward  Logans;  yet  each  remain,  as  to  the 
possession  of  worldly  goods,  in  the  same  con- 
dition as  now." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,  friend  Strong,"  said 
Howard,  "that  Jim  Coyle  would  not  be  hap- 
pier if  his  toil  were  made  lighter,  and  his  re- 
ward continue  the  same  ?" 


EICH    MAN'S    BENEFACTOR.  41 

"He  might  "be,  but  I  have  my  doubts. 
There  is  a  class  of  men  that,  like  the  "bee,  take 
honey  from  the  flowers;  there  is  another 
class  that,  like  the  caterpillar,  feed  only  on 
"bitter  leaves.  I  think  both  Jim  Coyle  and 
Edward  Logan  are  of  this  latter  class.  They 
get  no  honey  from  the  flowers.  Place  them 
in  what  circumstances  you  will,  and  they  find 
the  bitter,  but  not  the  sweet." 

"Prettily  enough  said,"  answered  How- 
ard, "but  not  the  fact,  in  my  opinion.  Ob- 
servation tells  me  that  a  man's  external  con- 
dition has  almost  every  thing  to  do  with  his 
happiness.  Can  a  man  be  happy  who  works 
in  pain  and  weariness ;  who  is  hungry,  while 
others  are  fed  to  repletion ;  whose  famishing 
children  cry  to  him  for  the  bread  which  he 
cannot  give  them ;  who  sees  his  wife  wasting 
daily  under  the  pressure  of  toil  and  duty, 
which  he  has  no  power  to  lighten ;  who  is 
oppressed,  and  no  one  takes  up  Ms  cause  ? — I 
tell  you,  my  friend,  the  external  condition 
has  every  thing  to  do  with  a  man's  happi- 
ness." 


42  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

"Why,  then,  let  me  ask,  is  not  Mr.  Logan 
happy  ?  Could  any  condition  "be  more  favor- 
able?" 

"A  guilty  conscience,  perhaps,"  said  How- 
ard. 

"I  was  not  aware,"  remarked  Strong, 
"that  there  was  occasion  for  trouble  in  that 
direction.  What  has  he  done  ?  What  crime 
has  he  committed  ?  I  never  heard  any  great 
wrong  charged  against  him.  The  world  bears 
testimony  that  he  is  an  honest  man." 

"He  may  be  honest,"  was  replied,  "in  the 
common  acceptation  of  the  word.  But  how  a 
man,  rolling  in  wealth,  can  see  want  and 
misery  all  around  him,  without  relieving  it, 
conscience  clear,  is  more  than  I  can  under- 
stand." 

"I  judge  no  man,"  said  Mr.  Strong.  "If, 
as  to  external  act,  he  keeps  the  command- 
ments inviolate,  I  leave  his  conscience  with 
him  and  his  God.  But,  as  I  said  before,  I 
think  Mr.  Logan  quite  as  much  entitled  to 
sympathy  as  Jim  Coyle — more  so,  in  fact, 
for  from  habit,  circumstance,  and  range  of 


RICH    MAN'S    BENEFACTOR.  43 

thought  and  feeling,  he  is  capable  of  greater 
suffering.  Jim  Coyle's  thoughts  move  in  a 
very  narrow  circle ;  his  wants  have  never 
grown  into  very  large  dimensions ;  give  him 
idleness,  and  enough  to  eat  and  drink,  and  he 
will  be  satisfied.  You  cannot  say  this  of  Mr. 
Logan.  He  has  every  luxury  the  body  can 
desire,  and  time  enough  to  enjoy  it.  Is  he 
happy  ?  Look  at  his  face !" 

"I  hardly  have  patience  to  hear  you  talk 
after  this  fashion,"  said  the  other.  "Who 
cares  whether  he's  happy  or  not,  the  hard- 
hearted, close-fisted  old  wretch !  Don't  talk 
to  me  about  pitying  him." 

"I  pity  him,  nevertheless,  and  from  my 
heart.  I  never  see  him  but  I  set  myself  to 
pondering  his  case,  turning  it  over  and  over, 
and  searching  in  my  thoughts  for  some  way 
of  helping  him." 

"You!  You  help  Edward  Logan!"  and 
Howard  laughed  heartily  at  the  idea.  "  You 
had  better  elect  yourself  his  benefactor." 

"Just  what  I've  seriously  thought  of 
doing,"  said  Strong.  ''Now  let  me  make 


44  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

this  proposition.  You  pity  Jim  Coyle.  Elect 
yourself  his  benefactor.  I  pity  Edward  Lo- 
gan, and  will  elect  myself  his  benefactor. 
Keeping  our  own  counsel,  let  us  see  if  we 
cannot  help  both  of  these  men  to  enjoy  life 
better." 

Somewhat  amused  at  this  novel  suggestion, 
Howard  agreed,  and  the  tw©  men  separated. 

Mr.  Strong  was  really  in  earnest.  His 
business  was  that  of  a  conveyancer  and  real 
estate  agent.  This  brought  him  into  frequent 
intercourse  with  Mr.  Logan,  and  gave  him 
opportunities  for  close  observation.  He  knew 
the  man  well — his  character,  his  means,  his 
peculiarities,  his  weaknesses,  and  his  pre- 
judices. He  loved  money ;  it  was  his  idol. 
He  started  in  life  with  a  small  inheritance, 
determined  to  accumulate,  and  he  had  been 
successful.  Dollar  had  been  added  to  dollar, 
house  to  house,  and  field  to  field,  until  now, 
at  sixty-five,  he  was  the  richest  man  in  his 
neighborhood.  But,  as  we  have  seen,  wealth 
had  not  brought  happiness ;  so  far  from  it,  if 
he  was  the  richest  man  in  his  neighborhood, 


EICH    MAN'  8    BENEFACTOE.  45 

lie  might  also  be  set  down  as  the  most  miser- 
able. He  had  one  son,  but,  as  he  had  loved 
money  more  than  his  child,  the  boy  was  neg- 
lected for  gold.  A  neglected  child  is  almost 
certain  to  wander  from  the  right  way,  and 
get  into  the  road  to  ruin.  The  feet  of  Mr. 
Logan's  child  went  astray.  He  grew  up  self- 
willed,  inclined  to  vices,  and  impatient  of 
control.  At  twenty-one  he  was  an  idle,  dissi- 
pated spendthrift.  At  thirty  he  was  killed 
in  a  drunken  brawl.  Mr.  Logan  had  also 
a  daughter.  But  the  one  great  pursuit  of  his 
life  absorbed  all  his  affections,  and  there 
were  none  left  for  the  little  blossom  that 
opened  in  his  household.  She  did  not  learn 
to  love  the  cold,  abstracted  man  she  called 
her  father.  There  was  something  about  him 
that  repelled  her,  something  that  prevented 
her  from  coming  to  his  side  or  climbing  upon 
his  knee.  He  made  chilly  the  atmosphere  of 
his  home,  so  that  this  flower  did  not  unfold 
in  richness  and  fragrance.  The  mother  was  a 
nervous  invalid,  between  whom  and  her  hus- 
band no  true  sympathy  existed.  If  they  had 


46  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

ever  loved  each  other,  their  love  died  and 
was  buried  long  before  little  Helen  grew  into 
conscious  girlhood. 

When  Helen  was  nineteen,  a  not  very 
remarkable  circumstance  occurred,  but  one 
which  had  the  effect  to  set  the  mind  of  Mr. 
Logan  all  on  fire  with  interest  for  his  daugh- 
ter. A  young  man  in  the  neighborhood,  who 
had  nothing  to  recommend  him  but  a  good 
education,  integrity  of  character,  industry, 
and  poverty,  was  bold  enough  to  ask  for  the 
hand  of  Helen  in  marriage.  Mr.  Logan  said 
"No,"  in  anger  and  insult.  Things  turned 
out  as  they  usually  do  in  such  cases,  and  the 
young  lovers  took  the  responsibility  of  get- 
ting married.  The  feet  of  Helen,  since  that 
time,  had  never  recrossed  the  threshold  of 
her  father' s  house,  and  though  ten  long  years 
had  intervened,  she  had  known  more  of  true 
happiness  during  that  period  than  had  ever 
come  to  her  heart  before.  The  neat  little  cot- 
tage, where  she  lived  with  her  husband  and 
children,  stood  not  very  far  away  from  her 
father5  s  imposing  mansion,  and  if  the  old  man 


KICH    MAN'S    BENEFACTOR.  47 

did  not  look  upon  it  daily,  it  was  because  lie 
turned  his  eyes  resolutely  away.  Long  ago 
the  daughter  had  ceased  to  make  any  over- 
tures to  her  father.  All  that  she  could  do  to 
break  down  the  hard  wall  of  separation,  she 
had  done.  But  he  refused  to  be  reconciled. 
For  a  time  he  sternly  forbade  all  intercourse 
between  the  mother  and  daughter;  but  the 
former  set,  at  last,  his  interdict  at  defiance, 
and  now  few  days  passed  in  which  her  heart 
did  not  grow  warm  in  the  sunny  home  of  her 
child. 

The  husband  of  Helen  was  principal  in  our 
academy,  and  highly  esteemed  by  all  who 
knew  him.  He  was  a  true  good  man ;  but  as 
he  did  not  possess  the  talent  of  money-ma- 
king, he  was  of  no  account  in  the  eyes  of  Mr. 
Logan. 

Thus  it  was  with  the  richest  man  in  the 
neighborhood;  and  Mr.  Strong  was  right 
when  he  said  he  was  the  unhappiest.  On 
the  day  following  that  on  which  our  story 
opens,  the  conveyancer  called  over  at  Elm 
Grove,  the  name  of  Mr.  Logan's  beautiful  place. 


48  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

He  was  really  in  earnest  in  his  desire  to  throw 
some  gleams  of  sunshine  on  the  rich  man's 
shadowed  way.  He  had  often  thought  of  his 
case,  and  often  pitied  him.  The  conversation 
with  Mr.  Howard  stimulated  his  thought  into 
a  purpose,  and  now  he  had  called  to  observe 
Mr.  Logan  a  little  more  closely,  and  see  if 
there  was  any  way  to  lead  him  out  of  him- 
self, for  he  knew  that  it  was  "because  he  was 
immersed  in  self,  that  life,  as  to  all  enjoy- 
ment, had  proved  a  failure.  He  found  Mr. 
Logan  sitting  in  the  little  office  where  he  usu- 
ally transacted  "business,  holding  a  newspaper 
in  his  hands,  and  apparently  reading.  From 
the  expression  of  Ms  face,  as  he  looked  up,  it 
was  plain  that  his  thoughts  were  "by  no 
means  agreeably  occupied.  . 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Mr.  Strong,  cheer- 
fully. 

"Good  morning,"  returned  Mr.  Logan,  a 
kind  of  growling^  welcome  in  his  voice.  He 
arose,  as  he  spoke,  and  offered  his  visitor  a 
chair. 

"  A  fine  day,"  remarked  Mr.  Strong. 


HIGH    MAN'S    BENEFACTOK.  49 

"Is  it?"  and  Mr.  Logan  turned  his  eyes 
wearily  towards  the  window.  "I  don't  no- 
tice the  weather  half  the  time,  unless,  maybe, 
when  it  rains,  and  I  can't  get  out.  Any  thing 
new  stirring,  Mr.  Strong?" 

"  Nothing  of  special  interest." 

Mr.  Logan  sighed  heavily,  and  let  his  eyes 
fall  to  the  floor.  There  were  a  few  moments 
of  silence,  when  Mr.  Strong  said : 

"You  are  not  well  this  morning  ?" 

"I  can't  say  that  I  am  ever  very  well. 
Between  rheumatism  and  a  "bad  digestion,  I 
never  know  what  it  is  to  feel  comfortable  in 
body.  But  if  rheumatism  and  dyspepsia 
were  all  a  man  had  to  bear  in  the  world,  he 
might  thank  God  morning  and  night,  and  go 
all  day  with  a  cheerful  countenance.  It  is  the 
mind,  sir,  in  which  exist  the  most  painful  mal- 
adies. There  are  such  words  as  peace,  content- 
ment, tranquillity,  and  the  like,  but  I  fear  they 
only  express  ideal  states.  Do  you  know  what 
contentment  is,  Mr.  Strong?  Did  you  ever 
lie  down  at  night  and  feel  satisfied  with  the  day  ? 
I  sometimes  think  that  life  is  a  mere  cheating 
4 


60  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

dream — that  we  are  the  sport  of  superior  'be- 
ings who  laugh* at  our  folly  and  infatuation." 

Mr.  Strong  had  never  before  seen  the  rich 
man  in  this  frame  of  mind.  He  was  usually 
cold  and  uncommunicative.  Their  intercourse 
had  scarcely  ever  reached  "beyond  "business 
themes,  and  he  was,  therefore,  not  a  little 
surprised  at  this  revelation  of  himself. 

"The  words  peace,  contentment,  and  tran- 
quillity," said  the  visitor,  "do  not,  in  my 
opinion,  express  mere  ideal  states ;  they  are 
conditions  of  mind  attainable  "by  all,  and  are 
independent  of  things  external." 

"I  wish  that  I  could  think  so,"  replied  Mr. 
Logan,  shaking  his  head  doubtfully. 

"It  is  as  true,  sir,  as  that  the  sun  shines. 
God  made  every  man  for  happiness." 

"Then  his  work  has  proved  a  signal  fail- 
ure," replied  Mr.  Logan." 

"Man's  fault— not  God's." 

"I  will  not  quarrel  with  you  as  to  where 
the  fault  lies ;  the  fact  is  written  everywhere 
on  men's  faces.  Neither  age  nor  condition  is 
spared.  All — all  are  wretched." 


RICH    MAN'S    BENEFACTOR.  51 

"But  not  alike,"  suggested  Mr.  Strong. 
"Some  faces  we  meet  lie  in  perpetual  sha- 
dow, while  others  are  forever  breaking  into 
rippling  waves  of  sunshine." 

"There  is  a  difference  in  temperament,  I 
know,"  said  Mr.  Logan,  moodily. 

"But  temperament  is  not  all.  It  is  the 
quality  of  a  man's  life  that  usually  makes  his 
shadows  or  his  sunshine." 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  understand  you," 
and  Mr.  Logan  looked  at  his  visitor  curi- 
ously. 

"And  I  am  not  sure  that  you  would  under- 
stand me  if  I  explained  myself."  Mr.  Strong 
smiled  as  he  said  this. 

"Suppose  you  venture  the  explanation," 
and  the  rich  man  smiled  feebly  in  return. 

After  pausing  a  few  moments  to  collect  his 
thoughts,  the  visitor  said — 

"Happiness  is  not  a  thing  to  be  sought 
after  as  an  end.  It  is  simply  a  resultant  state 
of  mind.  If  our  life  flows  on  in  heavenly 
order,  happiness  comes  as  a  consequence ;  if 
adverse  to  heavenly  order,  unhappiness  is 


52  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

the  consequence.  I  narrow  the  proposition 
down  to  its  simplest  terms.  The  question 
arises,  what  is  heavenly  order?  and  the  an- 
swer is,  that  order  which  is  in  agreement  with 
the  character  of  man's  Creator.-  Now,  the 
Bible  tells  us  that  God  is  love.  We  need  not 
stop  to  prove  that  this  love  is  a  love  of  "bless- 
ing His  creatures.  It  is  not  self-love,  but  the 
love  of  doing  good.  God  is  infinitely  wise, 
good,  and  happy.  Is  it  not  plain  that  our 
love  must  be  like  His  love  if  we  would  be 
wise,  good,  and  happy ;  a  love  that  seeks  to 
bless  others  rather  than  to  secure  blessings 
for  ourselves?  Mr.  Logan,  it  is  because 
thought  is  ever  turning  inward  upon  the  little 
world  of  self,  and  not  outward  in  good-will 
toward  others,  that  so  many  of  us  are  discon- 
tented. We  sow  our  seed  upon  a  very 
narrow  piece  of  ground,  and  the  harvest  is 
small,  instead  of  scattering  it  broadcast  over 
rich  fields,  that  would  fill  our  garners  with 
teeming  abundance.  God  made  no  single 
man  for  himself,  but  a  world  full  of  men,  to 
love  and  minister  to  each  other  and  be  happy 


EICH    MAN'S    BENEFACTOK.  53 

together.  He  who  withdraws  himself  into 
himself,  and  tries  to  be  happy  alone,  always 
fails  miserably.  It  has  been  so  from  the  be- 
ginning, and  will  be  so  to  the  end.  There  is 
no  exception  to  the  rule." 

Mr.  Logan  sat  very  still,  with  his  eyes 
upon  the  floor,  while  Mr.  Strong  was  speak- 
ing. 

"There  is  something  in  what  you  say  that 
never  came  into  my  thoughts  before,"  said 
the  rich  man,  lifting  his  eyes  and  fixing  them 
steadily  on  the  face  of  his  visitor. 

"Turn  it  over  in  your  mind — look  at  it 
upon  all  sides — ponder  it  well.  As  you  live, 
and  as  I  live,  the  secret  of  happiness  lies 
within  the  compass  of  what  I  have  said." 

The  two  men  sat  silent,  now,  for  several 
minutes,  with  thoughtful  faces.  Believing 
that  to  press  the  subject  on  the  mind  of  Mr. 
Logan  would  be  to  confuse  it,  Mr.  Strong 
thought  it  best  to  change  the  theme,  and 
said: 

"I  was  looking  at  that  acre  lot  of  yours 
down  by  the  factory  the  other  day,  and  I'll 


54  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

tell  you  what  came  into  my  mind.  You 
know  the  wretched  way  in  which  the  mill 
people  live.  There  is  nothing  better  for  them 
than  shanties  and  miserable  hovels,  that  dis- 
grace the  name  of  houses.  Now,  you  are 
rich,  Mr.  Logan,  and  you  would  make  your- 
self a  public  benefactor  by  laying  that  acre 
out  into  good-sized  lots,  and  covering  it  with 
well-built,  pleasant  little  cottages  for  these 
poor  mill  people." 

"Are  you  jesting  or  in  earnest?"  Mr. 
Logan  looked  at  his  companion  with  unfeign- 
ed surprise. 

"In  earnest." 

"  Humph !  I  don't  see  that  these  mill 
people  have  more  claims  on  my  benevolence 
than  any  of  the  ten  thousand  poor  wretches 
that  may  be  picked  up  within  a  circle  of 
twenty  miles.  I  may  be  rich  to-day,  but  if  I 
began  the  work  of  squandering  my  money 
after  that  fashion,  I  would  be  penniless  in 
less  than  six  months.  Oh,  no !  Mr.  Strong, 
I  am  not  so  charitable  as  that!  Let  the 
mill-owners  provide  proper  tenements  for 


KICII    MAN'S    BENEFACTOK.  65 

their  operatives.      It  is  their  business,  not 
mine. ' ' 

"I  speak  of  it  as  an  investment,"  remarked 
the  other. 

' '  Such  as  no  prudent  man  would  make. 
I'm  too  shrewd  for  an  operation  of  that  char- 
acter," and  his  eyes  gleamed  with  mingled 
cunning  and  intelligence. 

"Don't  dismiss  the  subject  quite  so  sum- 
marily, ' '  said  Mr.  Strong,  smiling.  ' '  I  think  I 
can  show  you  that  the  investment  I  propose 
will  pay  handsomely.  In  a  day  or  two,  if 
you  do  not  object,  I  will  bring  plans  and 
specifications  that  I  am  sure  will  interest  you. 
Shall  I  do  so?" 

"Oh,  certainly,  certainly!  no  harm  can  be 
done.  Looking  at  specifications  will  not  com- 
mit me  to  the  foolish  work  of  building  the 
cottages." 

"So  much  gained,"  said  Mr.  Strong,  as  he 
went  musing  on  his  way  homeward.  In  a 
few  days  he  returned  to  the  house  of  Mr. 
Logan  with  his  plan  for  the  cottages,  in  a  per- 
spective drawing,  that  made  quite  a  hand- 


56  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

some  picture.  It  presented  a  score  of  pretty 
little  houses,  each,  with  its  neat  yard  filled 
with  shrubbery.  Mr.  Logan  was  pleased 
with  the  sketch,  and  listened  patiently  to  all 
the  conveyancer  said  on  the  subject.  In  the 
end  he  was  won  over,  not,  however,  we  are 
free  to  say,  through  any  "benevolent  feeling 
toward  the  poor  operatives,  "but  "because  he 
saw  that  pecuniarily  the  investment  would  "be 
a  good  one. 

"  So  far  so  good,"  was  the  thought  of  Mr. 
Strong.  "Once  get  him  fairly  into  this  work, 
and  his  interest  in  these  poor  people  must  "be 
awakened.  My  task  shall  "be  to  keep  the 
thought  of  them  Ibefore  him.  Humane  feel- 
ings are  almost  dead  in  his  heart,  "but  not 
past  recovery,  I  hope.  There  are  states  of 
pity  and  compassion  laid  up  there  in  child- 
hood, which,  if  we  can  revive  them,  will  stir 
its  pulses  with  kind  emotions." 

Within  a  month  after  this  improvement  of 
Mr.  Logan's  acre  lot,  near  the  mill,  was  sug- 
gested, workmen  were  on  the  ground.  Mr. 
Strong  had  "been  forward  in  speaking  of  the 


EICH    MA1ST'S    BENEFACTOK.  57 

plan  as  involving  a  public  benefit,  and  highly 
creditable  to  the  projector.  Taking  the  cue, 
people  congratulated  Mr.  Logan  on  his  lib- 
eral spirit,  and  some  made  free  to  tell  him 
that  he  was  the  only  man  in  the  neighbor- 
hood who  had  let  true  benevolence  go  hand 
in  hand  with  enterprise. 

The  rich  man  was  nattered  by  all  this,  and 
took  credit  to  himself  for  a  generosity  that  he 
did  not  possess.  It  was  better  for  him,  how- 
ever, to  do  good  from  a  selfish  end  than  not 
to  do  good  at  all— better  for  himself  and 
better  for  others. 

As  the  cottages  progressed,  Mr.  Logan  took 
more  and  more  interest  in  them.  He  was  on 
the  ground  every  day,  giving  directions  to 
the  workmen.  Mr.  Strong,  without  seeming 
to  intrude,  managed  to  throw  himself  in  Mr. 
Logan's  way  frequently.  He  always  said 
something  pleasant  about  the  little  cluster  of 
cottages  that  were  springing  up  under  the 
hands  of  busy  workmen,  as  if  by  magic. 

"What  a  pleasant  change  it  will  be  for 
these  poor  work  people,"  he  would  remark 


68  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

sometimes ;  ' '  how  happy  they  will  "be !  These 
light,  neat,  airy  rooms  will  seem  like  palace 
homes  to  them  in  contrast  with  the  mean, 
filthy  hovels  in  'which  they  are  now  living. 
Health  of  mind  as  well  as  body  will  result  in 
the  change.  And  their  little  children — what 
a  blessed  translation  for  them  also !  I  seem 
to  hear  their  voices  singing  musically  from 
every  part  of  that  acre  lot,  on  which  pleasant 
houses  are  now  springing  up,  where  only 
rank  weeds  nourished  a  little  while  ago. 
Every  good  act  has  its  reward,  and  for  this 
good  act  yours  will  surely  come." 

In  due  time  the  cottages  were  completed. 
Many  little  conveniences  not  at  first  contem- 
plated were  introduced  by  the  proprietor, 
adding  to  the  cost,  but  securing  greater  com- 
fort to  the  tenants.  Some  generous  feelings 
were  beginning  to  stir  in  the  heart  of  the  rich 
man.  He  was  so  often  praised  for  his  be- 
nevolence that  he  began  to  wish  for  the  real 
sentiment,  and  actually  forced  himself  to 
make  expenditures  upon  the  cottages  beyond 
the  original  estimates. 


RICH    MAN'S    BENEFACTOR.  59 

On  the  day  Mr.  Logan's  new  tenants  took 
possession  of  their  pleasant  homes,  he  was  on 
the  ground,  a  witness  of  their  delight.  It 
was  years  since  he  had  felt  so  all-pervading  a 
sense  of  pleasure.  Mr.  Strong  was  there 
also,  closely  observing  the  rich  man,  toward 
whom  his  feelings  of  benevolence  had  moved 
so  earnestly,  and,  as  the  sequel  had  proved, 
so  fruitfully,  a  year  ago. 

"Have  I  done  him  any  good?  Is  he  any 
happier  than  on  that  day  when  I  looked  at 
his  miserable  face  as  he  rode  in  his  elegant 
carriage  past  Jim  Coyle,  the  tired,  discon- 
tented day-laborer  ?  Yes !  he  is  happier,  and 
I  trust  something  better,  or,  at  least,  in  the 
way  of  growing  better.  But  why  is  he  hap- 
pier? Because  he  has  made  a  good  invest- 
ment, and  has  the  interest,  or  rents,  secured 
to  him  by  the  mill-owners  ?  No.  This  is  not 
the  real  source  of  his  better  feelings.  He  is 
conscious  of  having  done  good — of  having 
improved  the  condition  of  more  than  a 
hundred  men,  women,  and  children.  It  is 
the  thought  of  this  that  warms  his  heart, 


60  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

and  sends  a  pleasant  glow  through  all  his 
being." 

Does  the  reader  ask,  what  of  Jim  Coyle  ? 
Did  Mr.  Howard  try  any  benevolent  experi- 
ments with  him  ?  Let  us  see. 

Jim  Coyle  was  an  Irishman  of  rather  a  low 
order  of  intellect.  He  could  neither  read  nor 
write,  and  was  very  little  removed  from  the 
animal,  as  to  appetites  and  propensities.  He 
had  to  work  hard  at  the  lowest  kind  of 
drudgery,  because  he  was  unskilled  in  any  art, 
and  could  not  be  relied  upon  where  thought 
and  intelligence  were  needed.  His  tools  were 
the  pick-axe  and  shovel ;  and  a  wheelbarrow 
was  the  most  complicated  piece  of  machinery 
with  which  he  could  be  trusted.  So  Jim  Coyle 
dug  cellars  and  ditches,  bent  wearily  under 
hods  of  brick  and  mortar,  trundled  heavy 
loads  in  his  wheelbarrow,  broke  stones  on 
the  roads  in  the  hot  July  days,  and  did  other 
useful  work  of  the  same  laborious  character. 
Jim  Coyle  was  a  useful  man  in  his  way.  If 
he  had  possessed  more  intelligence  and  more 
ambition,  he  might  have  been  useful  in  a 


11ICH    MAN'S    BENEFACTOR.  61 

higher  degree,  when  the  mind,  sharing  the 
body's  toil,  would  have  made  lighter  the 
"burden  that  rested  on  his  shoulders.  But 
Jim  Coyle,  like  most  people,  was  not  fond  of 
work.  He  knew  that  he  had  a  hard  time  of 
it,  and  took  care  that  others  should  know  it 
as  well  as  himself,  for  he  was  the  most  invet- 
erate complainer  in  the  neighborhood.  Jim 
had  a  wife  and  two  children,  and  if  he  had 
denied  himself  his  tobacco  and  grog — though 
we  will  not  say  that  Jim  drank  to  intoxica- 
tion— they  would  have  had  many  more  com- 
forts than  they  now  enjoyed. 

Mr.  Howard,  stimulated  by  the  conversa- 
tion with  his  neighbor  Strong,  resolved  to 
befriend  this  Irishman.  So  he  stopped  Jim 
on  the  road  a  day  or  two  afterward,  to  have  a 
talk  with  him.  The  kind  interest  he  mani- 
fested drew  out  Jim,  who  talked  volubly  of 
his  hardships  and  troubles. 

'"Dade,  'an  yer  honor,"  said  Jim,  straight- 
ening himself  up,  "thiswhalin'  of  stone  is 
the  most  back-akinist  work  iver  done  by 
mortal  mon.  Whin  I  git  home  at  night,  I  feel 


62  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

as  if  ivery  bone  in  me  "body  was  out  ov  jint. 
Och,  sure !  "but  it' s  a  misery  to  live  in  this 
way,  yer  honor.  Betther  be  dead  an'  lying 
in  the  grave — and  afther  all,  not  to  get  more 
nor  enough  to  kape  sowl  and  body  together — 
to  feel  the  hunger-pain  that  won't  let  ye  slape 
at  night,  yer  honor.  Ah!  sirs,  thot's  the 
throuble!" 

"How  much  do  you  make  a  day?"  asked 
Mr.  Howard. 

"  Niver  more  nor  a  dollar,  yer  honor,  when 
I  have  work." 

"  And  you  have  a  wife  and  two  children?" 

"Yes,  yer  honor — Nell  and  the  two  bab- 
bies, bless  their  dear  sowls !" 

"A  dollar  a  day,  and  not  employed  all  the 
while?"  said  Mr.  Howard,  thoughtfully. 

"Thot's  all,  yer  honor,  ivery  cint — and  a 
wife  and  two  childther  to  see  afther." 

"It's  a  hard  case,  certainly,"  remarked 
Mr.  Howard. 

"'Dade,  and  yez  may  well  say  thot!"  an- 
swered Jim. 

"Can't  you  get  into  some  easier  work — 


EICH    MAN'S    BENEFACTOB.  63 

something  that  will  give  better  wages,  and  be 
more  certain?" 

"I  don't  know,  yer  honor.  There's  no- 
body to  care  for  Jim  Coyle,  or  to  spake  a 
word  for  him  when  a  good  siteation  is  to  be 
had." 

"  What  can  you  do,  Jim 3" 

"Do,  yer  honor,  is  it?  Faix,  an'  a' most 
ony  thing  that  ony  other  handy  boy  can  do." 

"Very  well,  Jim,"  said  Mr.  Howard  en- 
couragingly ;  "I'll  bear  you  in  mind,  and  if  I 
see  any  thing  lighter  and  better  than  your 
present  employment,  will  put  in  a  good  word 
for  you." 

"Och!  hiven  bless  yer  honor!"  ejacula- 
ted Coyle,  lifting  his  brimless  straw  hat. 
"Yer  the  first  Christian  mon  that's  said  a 
rael  Christian  word  till  me  these  two  years. 
Hiven  bless  yez!" 

Mr.  Howard  now  took  up  Jim  Coyle' s  case 
in  good  earnest,  and  tried  to  interest  people  in 
his  favor ;  but  Jim' s  character  and  capabili- 
ties were  pretty  well  known  throughout  the 
neighborhood,  and  it  was  generally  thought 


64  HIDDEN     WINGS. 

that  he  was  about  as  well  off  as  he  deserved 
to  be.  So  Mr.  Howard  failed  to  awaken  any 
very  decided  interest  in  his  protege.  He  was 
getting  rather  discouraged,  when  one  day  a 
miller,  who  lived  five  or  six  miles  distant, 
asked  him  if  he  knew  of  a  good,  trusty  man, 
who  was  out  of  employment.  He  wanted  him 
to  work  about  the  mill  and  make  himself  gen- 
erally useful,  in  and  out  of  doors.  Among  his 
duties  would  be  the  receiving  and  weighing 
of  grain,  and  the  delivery  of  flour ;  and  as 
the  mill  would  have  to  be  left  some  times  en- 
tirely in  his  charge,  the  miller  was  particular 
in  saying  that  the  man  must  be  intelligent  and 
trustworthy. 

"What  wages  will  you  pay?"  asked  Mr. 
Howard. 

"If  a  single  man,"  replied  the  miller, 
"twenty-two  dollars  a  month  and  found.  If 
a  married  man,  thirty  dollars  a  month,  with  a 
small  house  and  a  garden." 

Mr.  Howard  thought  a  few  moments,  and 
then  said,  against  his  better  convictions — 

"  I  think  I  know  just  the  man." 


EICH    MAN'S    BENEFACTOK.  65 

"Who,  and  where  is  lie  ?"  asked  the  miller. 

"He  is  an  Irishman  named  Coyle,  who  has 
been  working  about  here  for  some  time  as  a 
common  laborer.  It  is  only  a  few  weeks 
since  I  was  talking  with  him  about  his  cir- 
cumstances, and  he  expressed  himself  very 
desirous  of  getting  into  a  situation  where  he 
would  be  less  exposed  to  the  weather  and 
have  a  more  certain  income.  He  lives  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  here ;  suppose  you 
call  and  see  him." 

"If  I  were  not  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  back 
home,"  replied  the  miller,  "I  would  call  on 
him.  But  I  think  I  may  venture  to  take  him 
on  your  recommendation." 

"Then  I  wiU  send  him  over, "-said  Mr. 
Howard.  "I  think  you'll  find  him  just  the 
man  you  want.  A  little  awkward,  at  first, 
no  doubt,  but  he'll  come  into  your  ways  and 
make  a  valuable  assistant." 

The  miller  went  on  his  way,  and  Mr.  How- 
ard sought  Jim  Coyle,  not,  it  must  be  owned, 
without  some  misgivings  as  to  the  Irishman's 
fitness  for  the  place.  Jim  was  in  ecstasies  at 
5 


66  HIDDEN     WINGS. 

his  promised  good  fortune,  and  called  upon 
all  the  saints  in  the  calendar  to  shower  their 
blessings  on  the  head  of  his  benefactor.  On 
the  next  day  he  went  over  to  the  mill  with  a 
note  from  Mr.  Howard,  and  secured  the  place. 
The  miller  was  very  far  from  being  favorably 
impressed  at  first  sight,  but  he  knew  Mr. 
Howard  very  well,  had  confidence  in  him, 
and  took  his  word  against  his  own  impres- 
sions. 

One  week  after  Jim  Coyle  entered  upon  his 
new  employment,  the  miller,  who  had  found 
him  not  only  stupid,  but  unreliable,  where 
strict  accuracy  was  important,  ventured  to 
leave  him  in  charge  of  the  mill  while  he  went 
to  the  landing,  two  miles  distant,  to  see  about 
some  grain  he  designed  purchasing.  Very 
particular  directions  were  given  to  Coyle 
about  observing  the  hoppers,  lest  they  should 
become  empty.  The  head  of.  water  was  even, 
the  millstones  carefully  adjusted,  and  the 
only  thing  required  was  to  see  that  the  hop- 
pers were  supplied  with  grain.  To  make 
Coyle  thoroughly  understand  what  he  had 


RICH    MAN'S    BENEFACTOR.  67 

to  do,  the  miller,  before  leaving,  took  him  to 
the  garners  albove  the  grinding  floor,  and 
explained  to  him  that  he  must  keep  the  grain 
well  heaped  up  over  the  feeding  spouts. 

For  half  an  hour  after  the  miller  left,  Coyle 
stalked  about  the  mill,  up  stairs  and  down, 
with  quite  a  feeling  of  self-consequence  at 
being  in  sole  charge  of  the  establishment. 
Walking  out,  at  length,  upon  the  forebay,  his 
eyes  were  attracted  by  a  multitude  of  fish 
swimming  about  in  clear  water.  He  had  done 
some  little  fishing  in  the  mill-dam  since  his 
change  of  residence,  and  the  sight  of  two  or 
three  large  sun-fish  threw  his  mind  into  quite 
an  excitement.  His  rod  and  line,  which  were 
in  the  mill,  were  brought  into  immediate 
requisition,  and  Jim' s  vocation  changed  from 
that  of  miller  to  angler.  Millstones,  hopper, 
garner,  grain,  and  all  that  appertained  to 
miller-craft,  vanished  from  the  thoughts  of 
Coyle.  He  had  made  a  dozen  finny  captives, 
and  was  just  casting  his  hook  again,  when  a 
terrific  explosion  in  the  mill  caused  him  to 
spring  full  five  feet  in  the  air;  a  crash  and 


68  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

jar  followed  which  seemed  as  if  it  would  shat- 
ter the  "building  to  its  very  foundation. 

With  an  exclamation  of  terror,  Jim  started 
off,  running  at  a  wild  speed  ;  and  but  for  the 
timely  arrival  of  neighbors,  the  building  would 
have  been  consumed  by  fire. 

The  hopper  above  one  of  the  pairs  of  mill- 
stones had  become  empty,  and  the  resistance 
of  the  grain  being  lost,  the  stone  revolved 
with  such  an  increased  speed  that  fire  was 
struck  out  in  the  friction  of  the  upper  upon 
the  lower  stone,  and  this  had  set  the  wood- 
work surroundings  in  a  blaze.  The  explosion 
was  occasioned  by  the  bursting  of  the  upper 
millstone,  consequent  upon  its  great  velocity. 
The  fragment  thrown  off  weighed  over  six 
hundred  pounds,  and  it  struck  the  wall  of  the 
building  with  such  violence  as  to  shatter  it 
seriously.  The  fire  was  readily  extinguished  ; 
but  the  injury  occasioned  by  Jim  Coyle's 
neglect  of  duty  in  a  position  of  responsibility, 
cost  the  miller  over  a  hundred  dollars  to  re- 
pair. It  might  have  cost  him  thousands. 
Thus  much  for  Mr.  Howard's  benevolent, 


HIGH    MAN'S    BENEFACTOE.  69 

but  ill-advised  attempt  to  improve  the  con- 
dition of  an  Irishman  who  was  filling  the  high- 
.  est  position  he  could  occupy  with  safety  to 
the  interest  of  others,  and  who  complained  of 
a  lot  that  was  the  "best  for  him,  all  things  con- 
sidered. 

And  so  ended  the  work  of  this  poor  man' s 
benefactor,  who  gave  up  the  case  as  a  hope- 
less one,  and  retired  ingloriously  from  the 
field. 

But  Mr.  Strong' s  success  stimulated  him  to 
further  efforts  in  behalf  of  the  "rich  repiner," 
whose  unhappy  condition  had  awakened  his 
sympathies.  There  could  be  no  peace  of  mind 
for  him  while  he  lived  in  angry  estrangement 
from  his  child,  and  his  benefactor' s  next  effort 
had  in  view  a  reconciliation. 

In  pursuance  of  his  general  purpose,  Mr. 
Strong  threw  himself  frequently  into  Mr. 
Logan' s  way,  and  showed  an  intelligent  in- 
terest in  all  his  affairs  that  came  into  view. 
After  a  while,  Mr.  Logan  began  to  talk  with 
him  about  himself  and  his  affairs  more  freely 
than  to  any  other  living  man.  He  was 


70  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

naturally  suspicious  of  those  who  approached 
him  with  any  degree  of  familiarity,  but  Mr. 
Strong  had  managed  to  disarm  him,  and  he 
was  entirely  off  his  guard.  He  believed 
the  conveyancer  to  be  a  true,  disinterested 
friend,  and  he  was  right.  He  was  always 
pleased  to  converse  with  Mr.  Strong,  who  had 
a  manly,  straightforward,  common-sense  way 
of  looking  at  things,  and  who  could  demolish 
a  false  position,  or  dissolve  a  sophism,  in  such 
fitting  words,  that  truth  became  self-evident. 
To  himself,  Mr.  Logan  acknowledged  the  cor- 
rection of  more  than  one  erroneous  view  of 
life,  in  acting  upon  which  he  had  aforetimes 
met  sad  disappointments. 

One  day,  some  three  or  four  months  after  the 
completion  of  the  cottages,  Mr.  Logan  and 
Mr.  Strong  stood  together  upon  a  gently  rising 
piece  of  ground  not  far  from  the  academy  con- 
ducted by  his  son-in-law,  between  whom  and 
himself  not  a  word  had  passed  since  the  day 
of  his  daughter's  marriage.  The  piece  of 
ground  was  owned  by  Mr.  Logan. 

"Why  don't  you  build  here?"  asked  Mr. 


RICH    MAN'S    BENEFACTOR.  71 

Strong.  ' '  I  have  always  thought  this  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  sites  in  the  neighbor- 
hood." 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  site,"  replied  Mr.  Logan  ; 
' '  but  why  should  I  build  here  ?' '  He  looked 
at  Mr.  Strong  as  he  said  this,  as  if  he  suspected 
that  there  was  something  in  his  mind. 

"It  would  be  such  a  handsome  improve- 
ment," was  suggested,  "and  if  the  house  were 
not  too  costly  it  would  readily  find  a  pur- 
chaser." 

A  shadow  darkened  over  the  rich  man's 
face.  Mr.  Strong  saw  his  lips  close  tightly, 
and  noticed  that  his  hands  were  shut,  and 
that  the  fingers  worked  uneasily  against  the 
palms. 

"No,  sir,"  he  answered,  with  marked  feel- 
ing— "no,  sir;  I  will  not  sell  this  property, 
sir !"  and  he  turned  suddenly  upon  Mr.  Strong, 
his  countenance  showing  much  agitation. 
"Sir!  I  bought  this  piece  of  ground  more 
than  twenty-six  years  ago — bought  it  on  the 
day  my  daughter  was  one-  year  old — bought 
it  for  her !"  The  muscles  of  his  face  quivered 


72  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

almost  convulsively.  He  paused,  still  look- 
ing at  Ms  companion  steadily — "No,  sir" — 
more  emphatically,  "I  will  not  sell  this  lot  so 
long  as  I  live!" 

This  was  a  revelation  not  expected  "by 
Mr.  Strong.  He  saw  deeper  into  the  heart 
of  the  rich  man  than  he  had  ever  seen  be- 
fore, and  gained  a  knowledge  of  what  he 
knew  would  give  him  increased  power  over 
Vnm — a  power  that  he  meant  to  use  only  for 
good. 

They  walked  down  from  that  greenly  swell- 
ing eminence  in  silence,  and  neither  spoke 
again  until  they  had  reached  a  point  where 
their  ways  divided.  Then,  as  they  stood  still 
again,  Mr.  Strong  said — 

"  You  are  right,  sir — do  not  sell  that  prop- 
erty ;  but" — and  he  looked  earnestly  at  Mr. 
Logan— "for  aU  that,  build  !" 

They  had  clasped  hands,  as  friends  do, 
about  parting.  Nothing  more  was  then 
said  ;  but  they  looked  at  each  other  steadily 
for  a  few  moments,  hand  closed  tightly  upon 
hand — then  the  grip  was  relaxed,  they  turned 


KIC1I    MAN'S    BENEFACTOR.  73 

from  one  another,  and  each  went  his  own 
way. 

"Build — "build!"  murmured  the  rich  man 
to  himself  as  he  walked  slowly  homeward; 
"what  does  he  mean?"  Some  light  must 
have  dawned  upon  his  mind,  giving  "birth  to 
a  purpose  ;  for  one  day,  albout  three  weeks 
afterward,  as  Mr.  Strong  was  passing  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  ground  just  mentioned, 
he  was  surprised  to  see  half  a  dozen  men 
busily  at  work.  On  approaching  nearer,  he 
perceived  that  they  were  digging  for  the 
foundation  of  a  house. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  build,"  said  he  to  Mr. 
Logan,  on  meeting  him  two  or  three  days  after- 
ward. 

"Yes;  your  suggestion  pleased  me  on  re- 
flection. The  spot  is  beautifully  situated,  and 
I  mean  to  improve  it  handsomely." 

As  Mr.  Logan  did  not  seem  disposed  to 
communicate  any  thing  further  at  the  time, 
Mr.  Strong  was  careful  not  to  press  him  with 
any  questions. 

Steadily  the  new  improvement  went  on  ; 


74  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

and  at  the  end  of  four  or  five  months  an  ele- 
gant and  commodious  house  stood  forth  in  all 
its  fair  proportions.  Then  the  grounds  were 
laid  out  in  the  most  tasteful  style,  choice  shade 
and  fruit  trees  were  planted,  and  vines  and 
shrubbery  scattered  around  in  liberal  profu- 
sion. It  seemed  as  if  Mr.  Logan  did  not  know 
where  to  rest  the  work  of  ornament. 

One  day  he  was  standing  alone  on  the  piaz- 
za of  the  house,  looking  over  a  grassy  lawn 
that  stretched  away  to  a  pleasant  little  sum- 
mer-house, against  which  newly  planted  vines 
were  just  beginning  to  spread  out  their  deli- 
cate green  leaves,  when  a  little  boy,  about  six 
years  old,  came  singing  along  one  of  the 
gravelled  walks.  The  child  did  not  see  Mr. 
Logan  until  he  came  within  a  few  feet  of  him. 
Then  he  stood  still  and  looked  up  into  his 
face.  He  had  dark,  lustrous  blue  eyes,  a 
broad,  white  forehead,  and  a  soft,  loving 
mouth.  At  first  there  was  a  startled  look  in 
the  child's  countenance,  and  a  shadow  like 
fear  in  his  eyes  ;  but  these  vanished  in  a 
moment ;  he  came  a  step  or  two  nearer,  still 


RICH    MAN'S    BEJSTEFACTOE,  75 

looking  up  at  Mr.  Logan  ;  then  paused  again 
and  said,  in  a  musical  voice,  and  in  a  free, 
confident  way, 

"Ain't  you  my  grandpa  ?" 

Nothing  could  have  taken  Mr.  Logan  more 
by  surprise  than  this  question.  In  the  hard- 
ness of  his  heart  he  had  refused  even  to  no- 
tice his  daughter's  children,  although  their 
grandmother  occasionally  "brought  one  and 
another  of  them  home  with  her,  in  the  faint 
hope  that  their  presence  might  stir  in  his  heart 
some  tender  emotions.  But  Mr.  Logan  had 
suspected  her  motive,  and  so  held  himself 
sternly  aloof.  He  did  not,  therefore,  know 
this  child  when  its  tender  little  face  was  first 
uplifted  to  his.  But  the  word  ' '  grandpa' '  went 
like  an  electric  throb  to  the  centre  of  being. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  child — his  daugh- 
ter's  eyes  looked  up  into  his.  A  strange 
softness  came  over  him,  a  tenderness  that 
seemed  foreign  to  his  nature  ;  his  heart  swell- 
ed in  his  bosom  ;  his  vision  was  dimmed. 
For  some  moments  he  stood  looking  at  the 
fair  creature  before  him,  with  no  answer  upon 


76  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

his  tongue.  Then  sitting  down  lie  readied 
out  both  hands,  and  the  child  came  and  laid 
his  soft  little  hands  within  them,  still  looking 
up,  half  doubtingly,  half  lovingly,  in  the  old 
man's  face. 

"Ain't  you  my  grandpa?"  The  question 
was  repeated  more  earnestly  than  at  first. 

The  fingers  of  Mr.  Logan  closed  tightly  on 
the  little  hands  that  lay  within  them,  and 
bending  down,  he  left  a  kiss  on  the  boy's  pure 
forehead. 

"I  knew  you  was  my  grandpa,"  said  the 
child  innocently,  and  he  began  stroking  Mr. 
Logan's  beard  and  patting  his  cheeks  in  a 
fond,  familiar  way.  Every  touch  of  that  little 
hand  was  like  a  giant' s  stroke  against  the  ice 
barrier  which  pride,  selfishness,  and  avarice 
had  built  up  between  him  and  his  long  es- 
tranged daughter — and  in  a  few  moments  it 
lay  upon  the  earth  in  ruins. 

"Who's  going  to  live  here,  grandpa?" 
asked  the  little  one.  Now  that  he  had  made 
terms  with  the  stern  old  man,  at  whom  he  had 
only  looked,  heretofore,  timidly,  and  at  a  dis- 


RICH    MAN'S    BENEFACTOR.  77 

tance,  the  questioning  spirit  of  childhood  be- 
gan to  run  free. 

"Somebody,"  replied  Mr.  Logan,  giving  a 
smile  of  encouragement. 

"Who  is  somebody  ?"  was  asked,  with  that 
earnestness  we  see  in  children.- 

"You  shall  know  one  of  these  days,"  and 
Mr.  Logan  moved  his  hand  caressingly  over 
the  little  one's  head,  and  played  musingly  with 
the  soft  curls  of  his  sunny  hair. 

"Willie !  Willie  !"  a  voice  in  anxious  tones 
suddenly  startled  the  old  man.  He  looked 
around,  but  saw  no  one. 

"Here  I  am,  mamma,"  answered  back  the 
child,  without  stirring  from  his  place.  In  the 
next  moment  a  woman,  with  a  half-frightened 
face,  came  into  view  around  one  of  the  angles 
of  the  house,  and  stood  still  within  a  few  feet 
of  Mr.  Logan.  She  clasped  her  hands  and 
looked  at  him  with  a  surprised,  eager,  hopeful 
expression  on  her  countenance,  as  fixed,  for  a 
moment,  as  a  marble  statue.  She  had  come 
at  the  right  time.  Mr.  Logan  extended  his 
arms  and  said — 


78  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

"Oh,  Helen !"  with  a  gush  of  feeling  in  his 
voice  that  swept  aside  every  thing  that  stood 
between  him  and  his  child.  The  next  instant 
Helen  lay  sobbing  on  his  bosom. 

It  happened  that  Mr.  Strong  was  passing 
that  way,  and  that  he  had  turned  in  from  the 
road  a  little  while  before  to  look  at  the  new 
building;  and  it  happened  that  he  came  in 
view  of  the  piazza  in  time  to  witness  that  touch- 
ing scene.  It  was  sacred  to  them  alone,  and 
he  retired  quickly,  without  being  observed. 
A  week  later,  and  the  reconciliation  of  Mr. 
Logan  with  his  daughter  and  her  husband  was 
the  talk  of  the  neighborhood.  Everybody 
seemed  pleased ;  and  it  was  a  common  remark 
that  the  old  man  had  a  softened  look,  and  a 
kinder  manner  than  had  been  observed  in  him 
for  years. 

The  improvement  around  the  new  house 
went  steadily  onward  ;  then  the  work  of  fur- 
nishing began,  under  the  supervision  of  Mrs. 
Logan. 

"For  whom  is  all  this  «"  asked  Mr.  Strong, 
with  a  pleasant  smile,  as  he  looked  in  one  day 


KICK    MAN'S    BENEFACTOR.  79 

at  the  new  dwelling,  and  admired  the  tasteful 
elegance  with  which  it  was  furnished  in  every 
part. 

Mr.  Logan  took  his  hand,  and  pressed  it 
warmly,  saying — 

"You  have  guessed,  of  course.  Do  you 
remember  that  day  you  said  to  me  'build?' 
My  mind  was  just  then  groping  about  in  the 
dark,  trying  to  find  the  right  way.  That  word 
gave  me  the  clue,  and  I  have  found  it.  I  said 
that  I  would  never  sell  this  ground,  and  I  will 
not.  I  bought  it  for  my  child,  and  it  is  hers. 
May  God  make  us  both  happier  than  we  have 
been  for  the  last  ten  years — me  especially,  for 
in  this  long  estrangement  I  have  been  the  most 
wretched  of  the  two.  Mr.  Strong !  I  call  you 
my  benefactor;  for  your  suggestions,  your 
leadings,  your  wise,  true,  earnest  words,  fitly 
spoken,  have  led  me  on,  step  by  step,  though 
I  knew  not  whither  my  feet  were  tending,  until 
I  stand  this  day  where  I  never  thought  to  stand 
in  this  world.  I  am  a  happy  father,  and,  com- 
pared with  what  I  have  been  in  times  past,  a 
happy  man.  I  thank  you  from  my  heart !  I 


80  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

repeat,  you  are  my  benefactor,  and  in  bless- 
ing me  you  have  made  me  the  instrument  of 
blessing  many  others.     May  your  reward  be 
sweet!" 
And  it  was  sweet. 


MOKE    NICE    THAN    WISE.  81 


m. 

MORE  NICE  THAN  WISE. 

A  CARKIAGE  stopped  at  the  door,  the  "bell 
was  rung,  and  a  few  moments  afterwards 
Amy  Leslie  had  her  arms  around  the  neck  of 
dear,  good  Aunt  Phoebe. 

"Oh!  I.  am  so  glad  to  see  you!  I  am  so 
glad  you've  come !"  exclaimed  Amy,  her  face 
glowing  with  pleasure. 

The  old  lady  kissed  her  niece  ;  then  held 
her  off  and  looked  at  her  with  motherly  ten- 
derness. 

"Not  a  "bit  changed !  It  is  two  years  since 
you  were  married,  and  your  cheeks  are  as 
round  and  "blooming,  and  your  eyes  as  "bright 
as  when  I  last  looked  into  them.  A  happy 
wife,  I  see.  And  why  not  ?  John  Leslie  was 
always  a  good  son,  and  I  have  no  fear  about 
his  making  a  good  husband.  He  was  a  pet 
of  mine,  you  know." 
6 


82  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Amy,  as  she 
drew  her  arm  within  Aunt  Phoebe's  and  led 
her  up  stairs.  "  He  was  your  pattern  young 
man.  But  he  isn't  perfect.  You  don't  know 
people  till  you've  lived  with  them." 

Aunt  Phcebe  stopped  and  looked  into 
Amy' s  face  a  little  curiously. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  fix  your  sharp  eyes  on 
me  after  that  fashion!"  said  Amy,  laughing. 
"Men  are  no  more  perfect  than  women." 

"Husbands  should  be  perfect  in  the  eyes 
of  their  wives,"  remarked  Aunt  Phcebe. 

"And  wives  perfect  in  the  eyes  of  their 
husbands?" 

"Of  course." 

"Then  we  are  exceptions,"  said  Amy,  as 
they  entered  the  chamber  prepared  for  Aunt 
Phoebe;  "for  neither  of  us  thinks  the  other 
perfect." 

Amy  laughed  again  a  gay  little  laugh — the 
sound  of  which  was  not  pleasant  to  the  old 
lady's  ears. 

"  How  is  John  2"  she  asked. 


MOKE    NICE    THAIS'    WISE.  '83 

"  Oh,  he's  well ;  and  will  Ibe  so  glad  to  see 
you." 

"How  does  he  get  along  in  "business?" 

"Very  well,  I  believe.  But  he  complains 
of  "being  worked  half  to  death." 

"He's  young  and  strong,"  said  Aunt  Phoe- 
be, "and  closeapplication  to  business  won't 
hurt  him." 

"  But  he  comes  home  so  tired  out  as  to  be 
right  down  ill-natured  sometimes.  And  I 
don't  like  that." 

"I'm  sorry,"  was  all  Aunt  Phoebe  replied, 
and  then  asked  for  the  baby. 

"Oh,  he's  sweet!"  and  a  gleam  of  sun- 
shine irradiated  the  young  mother's  coun- 
tenance. "Come;  he's  sleeping  in  the  next 
room ;' '  and  she  drew  Aunt  Phoebe  into  the 
chamber,  where  her  baby-treasure  lay.  '  'Isn'  t 
he  lovely,  Aunt?" 

' '  Dear  angel !' '  said  the  old  lady,  bending 
over  the  crib,  and  gazing  with  delighted  eyes 
upon  the  rosy  infant. 

"And  so  John  is  a  little  cross  sometimes?" 


84  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

remarked  Aunt  Phoebe,  as  they  sat  together 
in  the  sitting-room,  not  long  afterwards. 

"Yes;  cross  as  a  bear  now  and  then,  if  I 
must  say  so,"  replied  Amy. 

"Oh,  not  'so  bad  as  that,"  said  Aunt 
Phoebe.  "Cross  as  a  bear  is  pretty 
strong  language.  I  can't  believe  it  of 
John." 

Amy's  face  grew  serious;  then  fell  into 
deeper  shadow. 

"What's  the  matter,  dear?  You  don't 
look  happy.  Nothing  wrong,  I  hope?"  and 
Aunt  Phoebe  laid  her  hand  on  Amy's  arm  and 
looked  at  her  rather  anxiously. 

"Oh,  no — nothing  very  wrong.  But " 

and  Amy  paused. 

"But  what?  nothing  very  wrong?  Then 
there  is  something  wrong?" 

"Well,  the  truth  is,  Aunt  Phoebe,  John 
isn't  as  amiable  and  good-tempered  as  he  used 
to  be.  He's  careless  and  disorderly  about 
the  house  ;  and  if  I  say  a  word  to  him  he  gets 
into  a  huff.  Now,  if  there's  one  thing  I  do 
like,  it  is  order  and  neatness  at  home ;  and 


MOKE    NICE    THAN    WISE.  85 

John  tries  me  dreadfully.  I  don't  know  what 
has  come  over  him." 

"I'm  sorry!" 

It  was  Aunt  Phoabe'  s  only  remark  on  that 
subject  at  the  time.  But  she  determined  to 
look  on  with  open  eyes  and  see  where  the 
evil  lay,  that  was  casting  already  a  shadow 
upon  the  heart  of  her  niece. 

"  John  will  be  home  in  a  little  while,"  said 
Amy,  as  the  twilight  began  to  fall.  ' '  Ah,  there 
is  his  key  in  the  door,  and  that's  his  step  in 
the  passage  ;"  and  she  went  out  to  meet  him, 
closing  the  room  door  after  her. 

Aunt  Phoebe  listened  as  they  moved  along 
the  passage  to  where  the  hat-rack  stood. 

"There!"  she  heard  her  niece  say,  in 
rather  an  unamiable  tone  ;  "  don't  throw  your 
hat  down  on  the  chair.  Why  don't  you  hang 
it  up?" 

John  made  some  reply,  but  she  did  not  hear 
it  distinctly.  His  voice  struck  her  as  being 
a  little  rough. 

"  On  that  lower  peg  again  !  Don't  you 
see  that  your  coat  touches  the  floor  ?" 


86  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

"It  won't  hurt  the  floor,"  came  to  Aunt 
Phoebe's  ears,  in  an  annoyed  tone. 

"Incorrigible  !"  responded  Amy. 

A  few  moments  of  silence  followed.  Then 
she  heard  her  niece  say  : 

"  Aunt  Phoebe  is  in  the  parlor." 

In  the  next  instant  the  door  flew  open. 
John  hurried  across  the  room,  and,  grasping 
Aunt  Phoebe's  hand,  said  with  warmth  : 

"This  is  a  pleasure!  How  glad  I  am  to 
see  you  !"  and  he  held  her  hand  tightly,  and 
looked  fondly  into  her  face. 

A  crowd  of  questions  and  answers  followed 
each  other  closely  on  both  sides,  in  the  midst 
of  which  Amy  broke  in  with  : 

"Don't  put  your  foot  on  the  round  of 
that  chair,  John ;  you'll  rub  the  varnish 
off." 

John  removed  his  foot  without  making  any 
answer.  But  Aunt  fhcebe  saw  his  brow 
gather  slightly,  with  a  sign  of  displeasure. 
They  went  on  talking,  and  presently  the 
young  man,  who  had  taken  a  seat  near  the 
window,  took  hold  of  the  cord  which  looped 


MOKE    NICE    THAN    WISE.  87 

back  the  curtain,  and  commenced  running  it 
through  his  fingers. 

"You' 11  fray  that  cord,  John,"  said  Amy. 
"Do  let  it  alone!" 

John  still  kept  it  in  his  hand  as  if  he  had 
not  heard  her,  and  still  toyed  with  it  in  an 
absent  way. 

"John!  don't!     You'll  ruin  that  cord." 

Mr.  Leslie  dropped  it,  without  looking  to- 
wards his  wife  or  replying,  and  still  kept  on 
talking  with  Aunt  Phoebe. 

Soon,  in  his  earnestness,  the  young  man 
forgot  himself  again.  Grasping  a  chair  which 
stood  near  him,  and  balancing  it  upon  one 
leg,  he  moved  it  backwards  and  forwards 
with  a  see-sawing  motion.  Amy's  sense  of 
propriety  was  outraged  again.  The  act  an- 
noyed her,  and  she  could  not  repress  her 
annoyance.  This  time  she  said  nothing,  but 
reached  towards  the  chair,  and  attempted  to 
remove  it  from  his  hand.  John  did  not 
choose  to  let  it  go,  however.  Amy  drew 
firmly  on  the  chair,  and  he  held  on  to  it 
firmly. 


88  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

"Let  me  have  the  chair!"  said  the  persis- 
tent little  woman. 

"Do  yon  wish  to  sit  down  in  it?"  said 
John,  looking  up  steadily  into  her  face. 

"No,  but " 

"But  what?"  asked  her  husband,  knitting 
his  brows. 

"Why  will  you  play  with  chairs  in  that 
fashion?"  said  Amy,  with  slight  irritation. 
"  It  makes  me  nervous  to  see  you." 

"  I'm  sorry  your  nerves  are  so  delicate," 
said  John  Leslie,  pushing  away  the  chair. 
"My  wife,  Aunt,  has  grown  as  particular  as 
an  old  maid." 

Aunt  Phoebe  made  no  reply.  She  felt  un- 
comfortable. For  nearly  a  minute  silence 
pervaded  the  room.  Then  the  tea-bell  rung, 
and  the  scene  changed.  They  were  scarcely 
seated  at  the  table  before  John  was  guilty  of 
some  little  breach  of  etiquette  which  brought 
on  him  a  reproving  word  from  his  wife.  He 
did  not  seem  to  notice  her. 

"Why,  husband,  how  can  you  do  so?" 
broke  from  her  lips  a  few  moments  after- 


MOKE    NICE    THAX    WISE.  89 

wards.  "  You  really  seem  to  be  trying  your- 
self." 

"What  has  he  done,  child?"  said  Aunt 
Phoebe,  looking  across  the  table  in  some  sur- 
prise at  Amy. 

"Done  ?  Just  look  at  his  cup  on  the  table- 
cloth. A  nice  stain  it  will  make." 

"Where  are  you  cup-plates  ?"  asked  Aunt 
Phoebe. 

"Oh,  dear!  nobody  has  cup-plates  now-a- 
days,"  answered  Amy. 

"That's  just  it,  Aunt,"  said  John.  "Our 
Amy  is  growing  excessively  genteel.  She 
won't  have  cup-plates,  and  I'm  not  the  fool  to 
burn  my  mouth  with  hot  tea  and  coffee.  Both 
being  self-willed,  there  has  as  yet  been  no 
compromise." 

"Nonsense,  children!"  spoke  out  Aunt 
Phoebe.  ' '  This  is  a  little  worse  than  trifling. ' ' 
The  old  lady' s  rebuking  tone  rather  chilled 
them,  ,and  neither  made  any  additional  remark. 
But  the  buoyancy  of  their  feelings  was  gone. 
and  was  not  fully  restored  during  meal- 
time. After  supper  they  all  went  up  stairs 


90  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

into  a  cosy  sitting-room.  They  were  there 
only  a  few  minutes,  when  John  commenced 
drawing  off  one  of  his  boots,  saying  as  he  did 
so: 

' '  How  my  poor  feet  do  ache.  They'  ve  been 
bound  up  in  this  tight  leather  since  morning." 

"Don't  take  them  off  here!"  exclaimed 
Amy.  "Do  go  over  into  our  room  !  Your 
slippers  are  there." 

But  he  paid  no  more  attention  to  his  wife 
than  if  he  had  not  heard  her.  The  boot  just 
removed  he  placed  against  the  wall,  and 
went  on  deliberately  taking  off  the  other. 

' '  There,  that  feels  better, ' '  he  said.  ' '  I  tell 
you  what,  Aunt  Phoebe,  it's  no  joke  to  go  all 
day  with  a  pair  of  tight  boots  on.  My  feet 
feel  as  if  taken  out  of  a  vice." 

"Well,  I'm  downright  ashamed  of  you, 
John  Leslie  !"  said  his  wife. 

"I  hope  you  will  never  have  any  tiling 
worse  to  be  ashamed  of,"  he  replied,  and  not 
in  a  very  kind  tone  of  voice.  "  I  think  it's  a 
pity  if  I  can't  take  my  boots  off  where  I  please 
in  my  own  house." 


MOEE    NICE    THAN    WISE.  91 

"Oh,  as  to  that,"  retorted  Amy,  her  face 
reddening,  ' '  you  can  take  them  off  in  the 
parlor  if  you  choose,  and  put  them  on  the 
What-not  for  an  ornament !  I  don't  care." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  retorted 
John. 

"  You  are  ?"  said  Amy,  sharply. 

"  Yes  ;  I  shall  have  some  peace  of  my  life 
now." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Amy, 
showing  some  irritation  of  manner. 

"  Oh,  it's  very  plain,"  answered  the  young 
man.  "  If  I  can  leave  my  boots  in  the  parlor, 
I  can  leave  them  anywhere.  Much  obliged 
to  you  for  condescending  so  much." 

And  he  laughed  in  a  mocking  way  that 
was  particularly  irritating  to  his  wife,  who 
lost  temper,  and  said  a  good  many  hard, 
accusing  things  to  her  husband  ;  and  then, 
giving  way  to  a  passionate  flood  of  tears,  left 
the  room. 

"Is  that  right,  John?"  said  Aunt  Phoabe, 
looking  soberly  into  the  young  man' s  face. 

"Is  what  right?" 


92  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

1  'Right  for  you  to  do  what  is  annoying  to 
your  wife?" 

"  She's  no  right  to  "be  annoyed  with  trifles 
of  this  kind,"  he  answered  firmly. 

"That  is  not  speaking  like  a  kind  and 
sensible  man,  John.  Your  wife  is  neat  and 
orderly  "by  nature,  and  cannot  help  being  an- 
noyed at  what  is  disorderly.  This  is  not  the 
place  for  your  boots." 

* '  I  know  it,  Aunt.  But  when  a  man' s  tired 
half  to  death  on  coming  home,  he  might  be  ex- 
cused for  pulling  his  boots  off  anywhere." 

"Yes,  if  he  were  more  thoughtful  of  him- 
self than  anybody  else.  But  we  won't  dis- 
cuss this  matter  now.  I  must  go  to  Amy, 
poor  child!" 

And  Aunt  Phoebe  arose  and  went  from  the 
sitting-room,  leaving  John  Leslie  in  no  very 
comfortable  frame  of  mind.  She  found  Amy  in 
her  own  apartment,  sitting  on  the  side  of  her 
bed,  sobbing  violently.  Aunt  Phcebe  sat  down 
by  her,  and  taking  one  of  her  hands,  said  : 

"  As  soon  as  you  have  grown  calm  enough 
to  listen  to  me,  I  wish  to  say  a  few  words." 


MOKE    NICE    THAN    WISE.  93 

Amy  sobbed  more  violently  for  a  little 
while  ;  and  then,  the  paroxysm  abating,  she 
became  still  and  silent. 

"  Are  you  ready  to  hear  me?"  asked  Aunt 
Phoebe. 

"  Yes,"  came  faintly  from  Amy's  lips. 

"In  the  first  place  then,"  began  the  old 
lady,  "I  would  like  to  know  if  it  is  in  this 
way  that  you  receive  your  tired  husband, 
every  evening,  when  he  returns  from  busi- 
ness?" 

"In  what  way,  Aunt  Phoebe?  I  don't 
understand  you." 

"In  a  fault-finding  way,  I  mean." 

"  But,  Aunt,  I  cannot  let  him  act  in  such  a 
disorderly  manner." 

"Stop,  my  child!"  said  Aunt  Phcebe. 
"You  are  wrong.  The  love  of  your  husband 
is  more  to  you  than  these  trifles.  If  his  heart 
is  all  right ;  if  he  is  manly,  honorable,  and 
kind ;  do  not  these  qualities  far  outweigh  the 
small  defects  of  which  you  complain  ?  You 
did  not  meet  him  to-night  when  he  came  home 
with  tender  words,  but  in  reproof.  It  would 


94  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

have  Ibeen  but  a  little  thing  for  you  to  have 
hung  up  his  hat  when  he  placed  it  thought- 
lessly on  the  chair  ;  or  to  have  raised  his  coat 
to  a  higher  position  on  the  rack,  if  he  left  it 
too  low  for  your  fancy.  You  would  both  have 
felt  happier  for  this  forbearance  and  attention 
on  your  part,  and  surely  your  own  peace  of 
mind  and  the  happiness  of  your  husband 
are  things  to  be  first  considered.  What  is  the 
varnish  on  a  chair-round  to  the  smile  of  your 
husband  ?  Or  the  freshness  of  a  tassel-cord 
to  his  tender  and  loving  thought  of  you I 
Why,  child,  you  are  throwing  away  precious 
gems  for  glitter  and  tinsel.  Wasting  love  and 
gathering  up  bitterness  of  heart  for  the  time 
to  come.  How  much  better  would  it  have 
been,  when  he  drew  off  his  boots  in  the  sit- 
ting-room, and  complained  of  their  tightness 
and  of  his  weariness,  for  you  to  have  said  to 
him,  in  kind  consideration :  *  I  will  take 
your  boots,  John,  and  get  your  slippers.' 
That  would  have  been  wifely  and  lovingly 
done;  and  he  would  have  rewarded  you 
with  a  gratified  smile.  But  how  does  it  stand 


MOKE    NICE    THAN    WISE.  95 

now  ?  He  is  angry  and  you  are  unhappy. 
Are  a  few  little  home-proprieties  to  be  valued 
more  than  love  and  peace  ?" 

Aunt  Phoebe  paused.  Amy  looked  at  her 
for  some  moments  in  a  half-startled,  half-be- 
wildered way,  as  if  a  new  and  accusing  truth 
were  breaking  in  upon  her  mind.  Then  she 
laid  her  face  down  against  her  and  wept  for 
some  time  silently. 

"Am  I  not  right,  my  child?"  said  Aunt 
Pho3be. 

Amy  lifted  her  head  and  answered : 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,  and  I  have  been  wrong. 
Thoughtless,  foolish  woman !  how  weak  and 
unwise  I  have  been.  Thanks,  dear  Aunt 
Phoebe  !  for  your  plainly  uttered  reproof." 

When  Amy  returned  to  the  sitting-room, 
she  had  her  husband' s  dressing-gown  on  her 
arm,  and  his  slippers  in  her  hand. 

"Give  me  your  coat,  John,"  she  said,  with 
a  pleasant  smile,  "here  is  your  dressing- 
gown." 

"Oh,  you  need  not  have  taken  that  trou- 
ble," returned  her  husband,  in  surprise. 


96  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

"It's  no  trouble,  dear,"  answered  his  wife, 
putting  her  hand  on  the  collar  of  his  coat,  and 
helping  him  to  remove  it. 

"There,"  she  added,  as  she  drew  off  the 
last  sleeve,  "  is  your  dressing-gown,  and  here 
are  your  slippers.  I  will  take  your  coat  and 
boots  over  to  the  chamber." 

All  this  was  so  unexpected  to  John,  that 
the  whole  thing  was  done  before  he  had  time 
to  object  or  remonstrate. 

There  was  no  more  fault-finding  on  that 
evening ;  no  more  sharp  or  complaining 
words ;  but  considerate  kindness  and  gentle 
attentions  from  one  to  the  other.  It  was  a 
long  time  since  the  hours  had  passed  so 
pleasantly.  A  shadow  had  fallen  over  the 
brightness  of  their  home  ;  a  spirit  of  accusa- 
tion had  come  in ;  alienation  had  begun ; 
their  love-freighted  bark  had  passed  from 
calm  waters  to  a  troubled  sea ;  they  were  in 
danger  of  shipwreck ;  but  Aunt  Phoebe  came 
at  the  right  moment,  and,  by  fitly  spoken 
words,  restored  order,  harmony,  and  peace. 


THE    ENVIED    LOT.  97 

IV. 

THE  ENVIED  LOT. 


to  do  but  sit  at  the  window 
and  read,  to  make  calls,  to  receive  visitors,  or 
to  enjoy  herself  in  any  way  that  suits  her 
fancy.  Some  people  in  this  world  have  all 
the  work  allotted  to  them,  while  others  sport 
like  butterflies  in  the  sunbeams.  I  belong 
to  the  working  class." 

And  Mrs.  Fulton  sighed  wearily.  She 
stood,  holding  a  great  baby  in  her  arms,  look- 
ing across  the  street  through  the  half-drawn 
curtains,  at  a  neighbor  who  sat  by  her  parlor 
window  reading.  Every  day  Mrs.  Fulton 
saw  her  sitting  there,  neatly  dressed  and  ready 
for  company  ;  almost  every  day  she  saw  her 
going  out  or  coming  in.  She  had  apparently 
no  work  to  do,  and  seemed  free  from  care. 
Mrs.  Fulton  envied  her.  Even  as  she  stood 
now,  looking  at  her  neighbor,  a  hand  pulled 
7 


98  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

vigorously  at  her  dress,  and  a  voice  cried, 
fretfully, 

"  Mamma  !  mamma  !  Jane's  got  my  doll's 
bonnet,  and  won't  give  it  to  me." 

Mrs.  Fulton  let  fall  the  curtain  which  she 
had  drawn  aside,  and  turning  with  a  quick 
movement,  said,  with  some  excitement  of 
manner,  for  she  was  just  in  the  state  of  mind 
to  feel  disturbing  influences, 

"  Quarrelling  again !  It  is  too  bad  !  Why 
did  Jane  take  your  doll' s  bonnet  ?  What  did 
you  do  to  her?" 

u  I  only  pushed  over  a  chair  in  her  baby- 
house.  Shan't  she  give  me  my  doll's  bon- 
net?" 

"Did  you  push  over  the  chair  on  pur- 
pose?" asked  Mrs.  Fulton. 

"  I  asked  her  to  let  me  take  it  out,  and  she 
wouldn't,"  said  the  child. 

"And  then  you  pushed  it  over?"  Mrs. 
Fulton  looked  at  her  sternly. 

"  Shan't  Jane  give  me  my  doll's  bonnet?  I 
want  my  doll's  bonnet,"  and  the  little  girl 
began  to  cry  passionately. 


THE    ENVIED    LOT.  99 

"Stop  this  instant!  "exclaimed  the  mother, 
grasping  her  arm. 

There  was  menace  in  her  voice,  and  the 
child  knew  by  experience  that  if  she  did  not 
stop  her  cries,  a  "blow  would,  most  likely,  fall 
upon  her. 

Still  holding  tightly  the  child' s  arm,  Mrs. 
Fulton  passed  with  her  to  the  room  above, 
where,  a  little  while  before,  she  had  left  her 
children  at  play. 

"Jane,"  she  said,  "what  is  the  trouble  be- 
tween you  and  Mary  ?  Why  don't  you  give 
her  the  doll's  bonnet." 

"Because  she  knocked  over  a  chair  in  my 
baby-house,  and  wouldn't  set  it  up  again." 
And  Jane  looked  angry  and  revengeful. 

"And  so,"  said  the  mother,  by  a  sudden 
effort  regaining  her  self-possession,  and  speak- 
ing in  a  subdued  tone  of  voice,  "you  return 
evil  for  evil." 

"She'd  no  business  to  knock  over  my 
chair,"  replied  Jane,  with  scarcely  a  sign  of 
relenting. 

"  That  is  true,  my  daughter ;  but  as  I  have 


100  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

often  told  you,  two  wrongs  never  make  a  right. 
I  am  sorry  that,  because  she  acted  Tbadly,  you 
have  done  the  same.  Mary,"  and  she  turned 
to  the  younger  child,  ' '  go  and  put  that  chair 
in  its  right  place." 

Mary  knew  that  to  hesitate  would  be  to 
involve  her  in  punishment ;  so  with  pouting 
lips,  and  a  slow,  reluctant  hand,  she  obeyed 
her  mother,  and  put  the  chair  in  its  right 
position. 

"Now,  Jane,"  added  the  mother,  "give 
Mary  her  doll's  bonnet." 

And  that  was  done,  but  in  no  very  gracious 
manner. 

Mrs.  Fulton  tried,  now,  by  a  few  rightly 
spoken  words,  to  make  her  children  see  the 
evil  of  their  conduct.  But  passion  blinded 
both  of  them,  and  she  made,  apparently,  no 
impression. 

"Naughty  children !"  she  exclaimed  at  last, 
impatiently,  losing  her  own  self-control,  and 
turning  from  them  with  a  sad,  bitter  feeling 
in  her  heart,  saying  to  herself,  "I  am  discour- 
aged! There  seems  to  be  no  good  in  them. 


THE    ENVIED    LOT.  101 

Oh,  if  my  children  were  only  kind  to  one  an- 
other !  If  I  could  see  them  growing  up  in 
love  and  good  will,  all  of  my  life's  "burdens 
would  be  easy  to  bear." 

And  she  sat  down  with  her  heart  in  shadow. 
Mrs.  Fulton  had  not  felt  very  well  since 
morning.  She  had  risen  with  a  headache, 
which  had  accompanied  her  thus  far  through 
the  day.  It  was  a  dull,  deep-seated  pain,  at- 
tended by  a  disturbance  of  the  whole  nervous 
system,  and  bringing  depression  of  mind  as 
well  as  body.  As  often  happens  in  the  best 
ordered  households,  every  thing  had  seemed 
to  go  wrong  for  the  day.  The  cook  was  late 
with  her  breakfast,  and  sent  nearly  every 
article  of  food  spoiled  to  the  table.  Mr.  Ful- 
ton complained  of  his  coffee  ;  said  something 
unpleasant  about  the  badly-cooked  steak ; 
grumbled  over  his  hard-boiled  eggs ;  and 
finally  left  the  table  and  the  house  in  evident 
ill-humor.  Mrs.  Fulton  did  not  eat  a  mouthful 
— she  would  have  choked  in  the  attempt  to 
swallow  food.  After  leaving  the  breakfast- 
table,  Mrs  Fulton  went  up  stairs  to  the  sitting- 


102  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

room,  where  she  commenced  the  work  of 
washing  and  dressing  her  baby.  In  the  midst 
of  this,  and  while  the  baby  lay  half  washed 
on  her  lap,  John,  her  oldest  boy,  who  was 
just  ready  to  start  for  school,  caught  his  sleeve 
on  a  nail,  and  tore  in  it  a  great  rent.  If  she 
waited  to  finish  washing  and  dressing  the 
baby  before  mending  this  rent,  John  would 
be  too  late  for  school.  So  she  had  to  cover  the 
naked  baby  in  her  lap  while  she  mended  the 
garment.  The  child  was  already  out  of  pa- 
tience with  the  washing  and  dressing  business, 
and  now  commenced  screaming  to  the  full 
capacity  of  its  lungs.  Fretted,  in  consequence 
of  the  torn  jacket,  and  the  necessity  for  mend- 
ing it  under  such  unfavorable  circumstances, 
and  now  more  fretted  with  the  child' s  scream- 
ing, Mrs.  Fulton's  head  began  to  ache  with 
greater  intensity,  the  pain  almost  blinding  her. 
"Now  off  to  school  as  fast  as  you  can  go  !" 
said  the  mother,  as  she  pushed  John  from  her, 
after  he  had  put  on  the  mended  jacket.  But, 
instead  of  leaving  the  room  at  once,  John  com- 
menced rummaging  through  the  book-case. 


THE    ENVIED    LOT.  103 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  school?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Fulton,  in  a  sharp  voice. 

"I  can't  find  my  Philosophy,"  replied 
John. 

"  What  did  you^o  with  it  ?" 

' '  I  didn'  t  do  any  thing  with  it.  Somelbody'  s 
hid  it  away,"  answered  the  boy,  in  a  dogged 
manner. 

"I  wish  you'd  take  care  of  your  books," 
said  Mrs.  Fulton,  fretfully.  " There's  always 
some  trouble  about  them.  Go  and  look  in 
your  room." 

"It  isn't  there,  I  know,"  said  the  boy  pos- 
itively. 

"Then  look  down  in  the  dining-room. 

"  I  have  looked  there." 

"Well,  go  and  look  again." 

John  went  down  stairs,  but  returned,  in  a 
little  while,  saying  he  could  not  find  the  book. 

' '  O,  dear !  there' s  always  some  trouble.  Go 
and  look  for  the  book  right.  It  hasn't  flown 
away,  nor  walked  away."  Mrs.  Fulton  spoke 
with  angry  impatience. 

John  we^t   again  to    the  book-case,   and 


104  HIDDEN    WIXGS. 

searched  deliberately  through  all  the  shelves. 
Then  he  went  to  the  closet,  and  reduced 
things  to  disorder  there,  but  without  finding 
his  Philosophy. 

"You'll  be  late  to  school,"  said  the  wor- 
ried mother. 

"  Well,  I  can't  go  without  my  Philosophy." 

"  What's  the  reason  you  can't  ?" 

"I'll  be  kept  in,  so  I  will." 

As  Mrs.  Fulton  could  not  leave  off  washing 
the  baby  to  look  for  John's  book,  and  as 
John  wouldn't  go  without  it,  the  school  hour 
came  and  found  him  still  at  home.  As  soon 
as  Mrs.  Fulton  could  lay  her  baby  in  the  cra- 
dle, she  went  to  the  book-case,  and  almost  the 
first  object  on  which  her  eyes  rested,  was 
John's  Philosophy. 

' '  Here  it  is,  you  troublesome  boy  !  and  I'  ve 
a  mind  to  box  your  ears.  Now  run  off  to 
school  as  fast  as  your  feet  will  carry  you." 

"I  want  an  excuse, "said  John,  standing 
firm. 

"  Tell  your  teacher  the  reason  why  you  are 
late." 


THE    ENVIED    LOT.  105 

"She  won't  take  that  excuse.  It  must  be 
written." 

So  Mrs.  Fulton  had  to  sit  down  and  write 
an  excuse,  though  her  hand  trembled  so  that 
she  could  scarcely  hold  the  pen,  and  her 
headache  was  so  "blinding  that  she  could 
scarcely  see  the  paper. 

After  John  had  gone  to  school,  and  Jane 
and  Mary  had  been  enjoined  to  keep  very 
quiet,  and  not  wake  the  baby,  who  was  sleep- 
ing in  the  cradle  after  his  morning  ablutions, 
Mrs.  Fulton  went  down  into  the  kitchen  to 
give  some  directions  about  dinner,  and  to  say 
a  word  to  the  cook  about  her  morning  delin- 
quencies. The  cook  was  far  from  being  in  an 
amiable  mood,  and  on  the  first  word  of  com- 
plaint went  off  into  a  passion,  and  indulged  in 
some  very  unwarrantable  impertinence,  at 
which  the  lady  became  naturally  indignant. 
Certain  things  that  she  said  in  a  cutting  and 
authoritative  way  offended  madam  cook,  who 
gave  notice  that  she  would  leave  on  the  next 
day. 

As  this  scene  with  the  cook  closed,  the  cur- 


106  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

tain  rose  on  another  scene  of  excitement. 
Jane  and  Mary  had  quarrelled,  and  in  their 
noisy  strife  awakened  the  sleeping  baby 
before  his  nap  was  half  finished.  His 
screams,  mingled  with  the  passionate  vocif- 
erations of  Jane  and  Mary,  smote  on  the  ear 
of  poor  Mrs.  Fulton,  as  she  emerged  from  the 
kitchen. 

"0  dear!"  she  ejaculated,  clasping  her 
throbbing  temples.  "I  shall  go  crazy  with 
all  this,"  and  running  up  stairs,  she  silenced 
the  angry  children  with  a  sharp  reproof  and 
taking  up  the  baby,  soothed  it  to  quiet  on  her 
breast. 

It  was  a  little  while  after  this  scene,  that  she 
stood  at  the  parlor  window,  looking  through 
the  half-drawn  curtain  at  the  envied  lady  on 
the  other  side.  Even  while  she  sighed  over 
the  heavier  burdens  that  were  laid  on  her 
weak  shoulders,  she  was  called  away  from  the 
parlor,  as  the  reader  has  seen,  by  a  renewal  of 
strife  among  her  children.  As  she  sat,  after 
the  subsidence  of  this  little  storm,  in  despond- 
ency and  discouragement,  she  heard  the  bell 


THE    ENVIED    LOT.  107 

ring.  A  lady  friend  had  called,  and  she  went 
down  into  the  parlor  to  meet- her. 

"  Are  you  not  well?"  said  the  lady,  as  she 
took  her  hand  and  looked  into  her  pale  face, 
the  smile  on  which  did  not  obliterate  all 
marks  of  pain. 

"Not  very  well,"  she  replied,  the  smile  fa- 
ding quite  away,  and  leaving  on  her  counte- 
nance an  expression  of  weariness  and  care. 
"  It  is  one  of  my  headache  days.  I  have  had 
them  ever  since  I  can  remember.  Time  was 
when  I  could  find  a  quiet  room,  and  remain 
undisturbed,  until  the  quivering  nerves  found 
rest  and  ease ;  "but  that  day  passed  long  ago. 
There  is  no  rest,  nor  ease,  nor  quiet,  for  a 
mother.  Well  or  ill,  she  must  be  at  her  post. 
Ah,  my  friend  ;  there  are  times  when  I  feel 
that  my  lot  is  a  hard  one  ;  that  my  burdens 
are  heavier  than  I  can  bear." 

And  Mrs.  Fulton,  overcome  for  the  moment, 
by  her  feelings,  gave  way  to  tears. 

The  friend  sat  silent  until  she  had  a  little 
recovered  herself,  and  then  offered  some 
words  of  comfort ;  but  they  did  not  reach  the 


108  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

heart  of  Mrs.  Fulton.  She  was  in  a  complain- 
ing and  desponding  mood.  The  current  of 
her  thoughts  had  taken  a  wrong  direction, 
and  no  light  word  could  turn  it  back  again. 
The  comforting  suggestions  of  her  friend  were 
pushed  aside  as  of  no  value. 

"It  is  work,  work,  toil,  toil,  early  and  late, 
sick  or  well,  fresh  or  weary.  That  is  my  lot, 
and  I  think  it  a  hard  one.  Look  at  Mrs. 

H ,  sitting  idly  by  the  window  opposite, 

dressed  for  company,  and  with  nothing  to  do 
but  to  read,  visit,  and  go  out  and  come  in  at 
her  own  good  pleasure." 

"And  yet,"  answered  the  Mend,  "your 
lot  is  blessed  and  your  home  a  paradise  com- 
pared with  hers.  Did  you  ever  study  her 
face  ?  There,  look  at  it  now.  She  has  lifted  her 
eyes  from  the  book — I  doubt  if  her  thought  is 
on  its  pages.  Notice  her  mouth.  She  cannot 
see  us  as  we  stand  behind  this  curtain,  and 
gaze  through  the  small  opening.  Did  you 
ever  see  a  sadder  expression?" 

"It  is  sad,"  said  Mrs.  Fulton,  "very  sad. 
I  never  noticed  it  before." 


THE    ENVIED    LOT.  109 

"Patient  and  sad,"  remarked  the  friend,  in 
a  tone  of  sympathy. 

"Do  you  know  her?"  asked  Mrs.  Ful- 
ton. 

11  Not  personally.  But  I  know  something 
of  her  life  and  history,  and  there  are  some  pas- 
sages, that  I  can  never  think  of  without  shud- 
dering. She  is  not  happy  with  her  husband, 
and  never  can  be.  Ten  years  ago  she  was 
engaged  to  a  young  man,  between  whom  and 
herself  existed  the  tenderest  passion.  Mr. 

H ,  who  is  now  her  husband,  addressed 

her  at  the  same  time  with  the  young  man  to 
whom  I  have  referred,  but  she  declined  his 
suit  and  favored  that  of  the  other.  Her  father 

was  on  the  side  of  Mr.  H ,  who  was 

wealthy ;  but  she  was  true  to  her  lover 
against  all  opposition  from  her  parents,  and  all 
overtures  on  the  part  of  Mr.  H . 

"Unwilling  to  marry  without  the  full  ap- 
proval of  her  parents,  the  union  of  the  lovers 
was  deferred  from  month  to  month,  until  near- 
ly two  years  of  patient  waiting  had  elapsed, 
when  a  free  consent  being  still  withheld,  the 


110  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

marriage  was  about  being  consummated  in  the 
face  of  all  opposition. 

"Just  one  week  before  her  appointed  wed- 
ding-day, the  young  man  was  arrested  for  the 
crime  of  forgery.  Under  these  circumstances, 
the  ceremony  was,  of  course,  put  off.  Not- 
withstanding the  young  man' s  persistent  dec- 
laration of  innocence,  there  was  sufficient  evi- 
dence on  the  trial  to  convict  him,  and  he  was 
sentenced  to  the  State' s  Prison  for  five  years. 
It  was  nearly  a  year  before  the  almost  broken- 
hearted girl  again  appeared  in  society.  Mr. 
H then  renewed  his  attentions,  and  press- 
ed his  suit  so  earnestly,  that,  in  time,  she  yield- 
ed, what  most  persons  believed,  a  reluctant 
consent.  They  were  married.  A  year  after- 
wards, some  friends  of  the  unhappy  young 
man,  who  still  lay  in  prison,  received  intima- 
tions from  an  unknown  source,  that  there  had 
been  foul  play :  that  he  was  really  innocent 
of  the  crime  for  which  he  had  been  sentenced 
to  a  fearful  expiation.  Enough  was  commu- 
nicated to  put  them  on  the  right  track  of  in- 
vestigation. Having  the  clue,  they  followed 


THE    ENVIED    LOT.  Ill 

it  steadily,  but  surely,  until  the  whole  mys- 
tery was  unravelled.  Sufficient  evidence  was 
obtained,  to  show  that  the  forgery  was  com- 
mitted by  some  other  person  ;  and  this  person, 
while  concealing  himself  under  an  assumed 
name,  gave  such  a  clear  detail  of  facts  and 
circumstances  bearing  on  the  case,  as  left  no 
doubt  whatever  of  the  young  man's  inno- 
cence, and  he  was  immediately  pardoned  by 
the  governor.  But  the  information  received 

did  not  stop  here  ;  it  charged  H with 

being  an  accomplice  in  the  matter;  not  as 
a  sharer  in  the  crime,  so  far  as  receiving  a 
portion  of  the  money  was  concerned,  but  as 
an  adviser  of  the  ways  and  means,  by  which 
an  innocent  young  man  was  convicted  and 
sent  to  prison.  There  was  not  sufficient 
evidence  against  him  for  legal  prosecution, 
but  in  the  minds  of  all  who  looked  closely 
into  the  matter,  he  was  considered  guilty  of 
one  of  the  basest  crimes  that  can  stain  human 
nature. 

"It  is  said  that  the  young  man,  on  being 
released  from  prison,  went  to  the  house  of  Mr. 


112  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

H ,and  charged  him,  in  the  presence  of  his 

wife,  with  the  dastardly  crime  of  which  he 
had  been  guilty ;  alleging,  at  the  same  time, 
that  he  had  all  the  proofs  of  his  complicity, 
and  would  not  only  expose  him  before  the 
world,  but  prosecute  him  to  the  law' s  fullest 
extent.  It  is  said  further,  that  his  appeal  to 

Mrs.  H ,  on  this  occasion,  was  of  the  most 

agonizing  character,  and  that  she  was  so 
shocked  as  to  lose  all  consciousness  and  lie 
insensible  for  many  hours.  Friends  inter- 
posed to  prevent  any  public  exposure  of  the 
matter.  The  young  man,  whose  innocence 
was  made  clear,  returned  to  His  old  social 
position,  and  assumed  his  old  business  rela- 
tions. A  few  years  ago,  he  married  one  of  the 
loveliest  girls  in  our  city.  He  lives  only  in 
the  next  block,  and  few  days  pass,  I  think, 

in  which  Mrs.  H does  not  see  his  sweet 

young  wife  and  pleasant  child  go  past  her 
window." 

The  lady  paused,  looking  still  into  the  face 
or  Mrs.  Fulton. 

"You   envied  Mrs.  H ,  a  little  while 


THE    ENVIED    LOT.  113 

ago,"  she  continued,  "are  you  ready  to  ex- 
change places  with  her  now?" 

"~No — no — no!"  said  Mrs.  Fulton  with 
much  feeling.  "You  said  truly,  that  my  lot 
was  blessed  and  my  home  a  paradise  com- 
pared with  hers.  Exchange  places  ?  God  for- 
bid !  I  would  sink  down  and  die  under  the 
burden  that  rests  upon  her  heart." 

"We  have  all  our  burdens,"  said  the 
friend.  "  You  have  your  burdens  and  I  have 
mine ;  and  sometimes  they  seem  heavy  and 
hard  to  bear.  But  oh,  they  are  light  as  this- 
tle-down compared  with  what  some  others 
have  to  endure.  You  have  a  kind,  honorable 
husband,  and  children,  of  whom  any  mother 
might  be  proud — not  sinless  cherubs,  of 
course,  but  touched  with  faults  and  evil  incli- 
nations, that  require  their  mother' s  care,  disci- 
pline, and  patience.  If  she  is  faithful  to  her 
high  responsibilities,  great  will  be  her  reward 
— rich  her  blessing." 

"Thank  you,  my  kind,  wise  friend,"  said 
Mrs.  Fulton,  light  breaking  over  her  face,  "I 
stand  corrected ;  you  have  taken  a  mist  from 
8 


114  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

before  my  eyes,  and  I  see  things  in  new  and 

truer  relations.     Poor   Mrs.  H !     Is  the 

case  indeed  so  sad  with  her?  There  is  no 
compensation  in  ease  and  leisure  for  a  trou- 
ble like  hers.  If  I  am  worn  and  weary  with 
my  day's  work,  I  can  lie  down  at  night 
in  peace,  and  sleep.  If  I  am  sometimes 
fretted  at  the  faults  of  my  children,  how 
much  oftener  is  my  heart  full  of  gladness, 
in  their  tender  love?  Have  I  not  cause  for 
thankfulness?  And  yet  I  have  been  mur- 
muring over  a  lot  that  is  full  of  blessing. 
Thanks  for  the  lesson  you  have  taught  me. 
I  shall  be  wiser  in  the  time  to  come." 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  115 


THE  TWO  LEGACIES. 

THE  chamber  in  which  the  sick  man  lay 
was  small,  and  the  furniture  poor,  though 
every  thing  was  neat,  clean,  and  orderly. 
There  were  four  persons  in  the  room;  the 
sick  man,  his  wife,  and  two  children.  The 
elder  of  the  children  was  a  Iboy  fifteen  years 
of  age;  the  other,  a  girl  just  entering  her 
sixth  year.  They  were  standing  around  the 
bed,  gazing  with  tearful  eyes  upon  a  beloved 
face,  which,  after  a  few  more  feeble  heart- 
beats, would  be  cold  and  expressionless. 

"Edward,"  said  the  dying  man,  taking  the 
hand  of  his  son,  and  looking  at  him  with  a 
tender,  yearning  solicitude;  "Edward,  my 
son,  I  am  now  about  to  leave  you.  It  has 
not  pleased  our  good  Father  in  heaven  to 
make  me  rich ;  I  have  neither  houses,  nor 
lands,  nor  money  for  my  children — only  the 


116  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

legacy  of  a  good  name,  which  I  hand  over  to 
you  as  a  sacred  trust.  Look  well  to  it,  that 
nothing  sullies  its  brightness.  Keep  it  as 
our  family  heir-loom,  and  transmit  it  undim- 
med  to  your  children.  If  you  are  ever 
tempted  to  do  wrong,  think  of  this  high 
trust,  and  forbear.  Be  honest,  virtuous,  in- 
dustrious, temperate,  and  faithful  to  all  trusts 
that  may  "be  confided  to  you ;  and  if  it  is  best 
for  you  to  gain  riches  in  this  world,  God  will 
pour  them  into  your  lap  ;  and  if  you  remain 
virtuous  and  honorable,  holding  them  as 
good  gifts  from  above,  they  will  bless  instead 
of  cursing  you.  You  are  only  a  boy,  but 
your  hands  are  already  used  to  work,  and 
have  acquired  some  skill.  Be  faithful  to 
your  employer,  as  if  the  business  were  your 
own.  I  leave  your  mother  and  sister  in  your 
care.  Never  forget  them,  my  son." 

Then  laying  his  thin  white  hand  on  the 
boy's  head,  the  dying  man,  with  his  dim  eyes 
lifted  upwards,  said,  tremulously — 

"The  Lord  bless  thee,  my  son;  and  keep 
thee,  unspotted,  in  this  evil  world." 


THE'  TWO    LEGACIES.  117 

x 

An  hour  afterwards,  and  there  was  silence 
and  desolation  in  the  house. 

In  the  same  street,  and  directly  opposite, 
towered  the  stately  mansion  of  one  who  had 
"been  more  favored  by  worldly  fortune.  And 
his  time  had  come  also.  Death  is  no  respect- 
er of  persons.  In-  his  eyes,  all  are  equal ; 
rich  and  poor ;  the  lofty  and  the  humble ; 
the  bond  and  free — all  alike  must  go  down 
with  naked  feet  to  the  darkly  flowing  river. 
Around  his  bed  were  gathered  wife,  and 
children,  and  friends.  But  the  dying  man's 
legacy  was  not  reserved  for  announcement  at 
this  late  moment.  Years  before,  in  due  legal 
form,  his  last  will  and  testament  had  been 
written.  His  son  and  daughter  would  inherit 
ample  fortunes.  And  so,  in  these  his  last  mo- 
ments, no  anxious  thoughts  for  them  held  him 
lingering  on  the  utmost  verge  of  mortality. 
Gradually  his  pulses  grew  feebler  and  feebler, 
and  he  died  without  a  word  or  sign. 

Almost  at  the  same  moment,  a  small  piece 
of  crape  was  fastened  on  a  dingy  brass  door- 
knob, and  a  sign  of  death,  falling  in  ample 


118  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

folds  to  the  very  door-step,  tied  to  a  silver 
"bell-handle.  From  opposite  sides  of  the 
street,  these  tokens  of  death  looked  at  each 
other ;  the  one  fluttering  bravely  in  the  wind, 
the  other  shrinking  against  the  door,  as  if 
half  ashamed  of  its  office.  Three  days  after- 
wards, a  grand  funeral  •  cortege,  stretching 
away  in  a  line  of  thirty  carriages,  took  up  its 
solemn  march  towards  a  fashionable  ceme- 
tery. An  hour  later,  and  a  hearse  and  two 
carriages  moved  sadly  from  the  little  house 
opposite  the  one  from  which  the  great  com- 
pany of  mourners  had  passed. 

Edward  Strong  and  Charles  Raynor,  or- 
phaned by  these  two  deaths,  were  of  nearly 
the  same  age.  But  how  different  their  lots, 
and  how  different  their  prospects !  To  each 
had  passed  a  legacy  ;  but  of  what  a  different 
character ! 

In  a  work-shop,  leaning  over  a  bench,  sat 
a  boy.  His  clothes  were  coarse ;  his  hands 
soiled  and  rough ;  his  face  dark  with  smoke 
and  sweat.  But  all  his  movements  were 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  119 

quick,  and  showed  his  mind  to  be  active  and 
in  earnest.  There  were  others  at  work  around 
him — boys  and  men  ;  some  active  and  in  ear- 
nest, like  himself ;  others  with  slower  and  less 
interested  movements,  and  some  idling,  or 
but  half  employed.  The  door  opened,  and 
the  owner  of  the  shop  entered.  He  had  a 
quick  eye,  and  at  a  glance  understood,  from 
the  movement  of  every  boy  and  man,  with 
what  degree  of  earnestness  he  had  been  em- 
ployed. To  one  he  spoke  a  sharp  word  ;  to 
another  he  gave  a  mild  reproof;  and  then 
came  and  stood  by  the  lad  to  whom  we  have 
just  referred.  The  boy  did  not  look  up,  nor 
quicken  his  motions,  but  kept  on  in  his  ear- 
nest way.  While  the  man  yet  stood  looking 
at  him,  he  finished  the  piece  of  work  on 
which  he  was  engaged.  His  employer  took 
it  from  his  hands,  and  after  examining  it  care- 
fully, for  a  little  while,  said  in  a  kind,  ap* 
proving  voice, 

"Very  well  done,  indeed,  Edward,  and 
finished  in  good  time.  Take  it  into  the  store ; 
there's  a  job  that  I  want  done  by  a  careful 


120  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

hand.  I  will  Ibe  down  in  a  few  moments  to 
see  you  albout  it." 

The  "boy  arose  from  his  bench,  with  a  glow 
of  pleasure  ruddily  gleaming  through  the  soil 
on  his  cheeks,  and  passed  from  the  shop  with 
an  elastic  step.  The  proprietor  came  down 
into  the  store  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  but, 
before  noticing  the  boy,  he  went  to  a  clerk 
who  stood  writing  at  a  desk,  and  said  to  him, 

"  How  much  do  we  pay  Edward  Strong  ?" 

The  clerk  took  down  a  book,  and,  on  re- 
ferring to  it,  answered, 

"  Three  dollars  a  week,  sir." 

"Make  it  five." 

"  Yes,  sir ;"  and  the  book  was  closed. 

The  man,  whom  we  will  call  Mr.  Campbell, 
turned  from  the  desk,  and  went  to  where 
Edward  was.  standing,  awaiting  his  pleasure. 

"We  took  an  order  this  morning,  Ed- 
ward," said  Mr.  Campbell,  "from  a  very 
particular  customer,  and  I  want  it  done  in  the 
neatest  manner." 

He  then  gave  Edward  a  description  of  the 
article  required,  with  a  pattern  to  work  from. 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  121 

There  were  certain  deviations  from  the  pat- 
tern, however,  that  only  an  intelligent  mind 
could  comprehend,  and  a  skilled  hand  exe- 
cute.     After    a   full    description   had   been 
given,  Mr.  Campbell  said, 
"  Can  you  do  it,  Edward  ?" 
The  boy  lifted  his  bright,  intelligent  eyes  to 
his  employer's  face,  and  answered,  in  a  con- 
fident tone,  "I  can  try,  sir." 

"It  is  wanted  on  the  day  after  to-morrow. 
The  tune  is  short;  do  you  think  it  can  be 
done?" 

"Yes,  sir,  by  working  at  night." 
Mr.  Campbell  stood  a  moment,  and  then  said, 
"  You  think  it  will  require  night- work  ?" 
"I  wouldn't   like  to  risk  not   getting  it 
done,"  replied  Edward;  "so  I'll  come  back 
to-night,  after  supper,  and  get  ahead  as  far  as 
possible.     With  this  start,  I  can  finish  it  to 
morrow,  or  at  least  to-morrow  night.    You  may 
depend  on  it,  sir,  if  I  am  alive  and  well." 

When  Edward  went  home  at  the  close  of 
that  week,  he  took  the  good  news  to  his 
mother  that  his  wages  had  been  raised  to  five 


122  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

dollars,  and  that  Mr.  Campbell  said  he  was 
the  best  and  trustiest  workman  among  all  his 
apprentices.  It  was  an  hour  of  joy  to  that 
mother,  who  sat  low  down  in  the  vale  of  pov- 
erty, with  the  shadow  of  a  great  affliction 
resting  upon  her. 


At  his  desk  sat  a  boy  dressed  in  fine  broad- 
cloth, leaning  over  a  book,  but  only  pretend- 
ing to  study.  A  recitation  was  called,  and  he 
went  up  with  his  class.  When  his  turn  came 
to  recite,  he  was  dumb.  The  teacher  prompted 
him,  when  he  blundered  over  a  few  sentences 
and  then  came  to  a  full  stop.  The  fact  was, 
he  had  only  pretended  to  study  his  lesson, 
and,  as  a  consequence,  did  not  know  it.  The 
teacher  reproved  him  before  the  class,  and  the 
boy  answered  impertinently. 

"Charles  Raynor,"  said  the  teacher,  in  a 
stern  voice,  ' '  you  must  take  back  that  word 
instantly ! 

The  boy  stood  silent  and  dogged. 

"  Did  you  understand  me,  sir  ?  There  must 
be  an  instant  apology  before  the  class." 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  123 

The  "boy  looked  defiant.  There  was  no 
thought  of  apology  in  his  mind.  He,  Charles 
Raynor,  with  a  legacy  of  sixty  thousand  dol- 
lars, to  come  into  his  hands  on  the  day  he  be- 
came twenty-one  years  of  age — he  knew  the 
exact  provisions  of  his  father's  will — he  apolo- 
gize to  a  poor  schoolmaster  ?  No,  indeed ! 

The  teacher  stood,  sternly  awaiting  his  de- 
cision. 

"  I  give  you  five  seconds,  sir  !" 

The  boy  looked  up  with  an  insolent  leer. 

"Take  your  hat  and  go  home,  sir,"  said 
the  teacher,  as  the  five  seconds  expired. 

The  boy  turned  and  left  the  school-room. 

Mrs.  Raynor  was  far  from  approving  the 
conduct  of  her  son,  and  tried  her  best  to 
make  him  return  and  offer  a  suitable  apology 
to  the  teacher.  But  the  lad  had  already 
grown  purse-proud,  and  was  not  going  to 
humiliate  himself  to  a  "beggarly  school- 
master," as  he  was  pleased  to  call  an  accom- 
plished and  high-minded  teacher,  who  oc- 
cupied a  more  elevated  position  than  it  was 
possible  for  him  ever  to  gain. 


124  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

Five  years  later.  In  the  same  room  where 
Edward  Strong  had  received  the  legacy  of  a 
good  name,  with  the  dying  injunction  and 
blessing  of  his  father,  sat,  late  in  the  evening, 
a  young  man,  deeply  absorbed  in  a  book.  It 
was  Edward  himself,  now  on  the  verge  of 
manhood.  He  had  grown  tall  and  well-de- 
veloped in  chest  and  limb.  His  face  was 
thoughtful,  intelligent  and  grave,  for  one  of 
his  years ;  his  eyes  large,  deep,  earnest,  and 
full  of  purpose,  as  you  would  have  acknowl- 
edged, had  you  seen  them,  as  he  looked  up 
from  his  book  on  the  entrance  of  his  mother. 
He  smiled  as  he  closed  the  volume  and  said, 

"  Sit  down,  mother." 

As  Mrs.  Strong  sat  down,  Edward  con- 
tinued: "When  father  died  he  left  me  his 
good  name.  Its  lustre  is  not  tarnished  yet, 
and  God  being  my  helper,  it  never  shall  be  ! 
I  cannot  forget  that  hour,  nor  what  my  father 
said  to  me  a  little  while  before  his  voice  grew 
forever  silent  on  the  earth.  It  was  a  legacy 
better  than  gold.  He  said,  'Be  honest,  vir- 
tuous, industrious,  and  temperate,'  and  ever 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  125 

since  that  time  I  have  seemed  to  hear  his  voice 
repeating  the  injunction.  I  have  not  been 
without  temptation,  but  a  thought  of  him 
always  gave  me  strength  to  overcome,  and 
so,  dear  mother,  I  have  conquered  thus  far, 
though  many  have  fallen  around  me.  There 
was  another  injunction  which  I  have  endeav- 
ored strictly  to  obey.  He  said,  '  Be  faithful 
to  your  employer  as  if  the  business  were  your 
own.'  I  have  endeavored  to  be  thus  faithful, 
and  this  faithfulness  has  worked  to  my  own 
benefit  in  many  ways,  and  now,  especially,  in 
this :  To-day  Mr.  Campbell  made  me  foreman 
of  the  shop,  and  increased  my  wages  to 
eighteen  dollars  a  week,  saying  to  me  at  the 
same  time,  such  kind  and  nattering  things  as 
covered  my  cheeks  with  blushes." 

"There  is  no  happier  mother  than  I  am  to- 
night," said  Mrs.  Strong,  as  she  clasped  the 
hands  of  her  son,  and  held  them  tightly 
against  her  breast. 

Even  at  this  moment  there  came  a  loud, 
riotous  cry  from  the  street  in  front  of  then- 
dwelling,  startling  mother  and  son  from  their 


126  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

present  state  of  mind.  On  going  to  the  win- 
dow and  looking  out,  they  saw  a  young  man 
struggling  in  the  hands  of  a  police  officer. 

"  Charles  Raynor,  as  I  live!"  exclaimed 
Edward. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him?"  asked 
Mrs.  Strong,  in  an  alarmed  voice. 

"Drunk,  that  is  all,"  said  Edward,  as  he 
saw  the  young  man  throw  his  arms  albove  his 
head,  and  heard  him  cry  out  in  a  voice  that 
was  incoherent  from  intoxication. 

At  this  moment  the  door  of  Mrs.  Raynor' s 
elegant  mansion  opened,  and  a  waiter  came 
out  hurriedly.  Seizing  an  arm  of  the  young 
man,  he  drew  him,  with  the  assistance  of  the 
policeman,  into  the  house.  The  door  shut, 
and  the  policeman  retired. 

"  Wretched  mother  !"  said  Mrs.  Strong,  in 
a  tone  of  pity,  as  she  turned  from  the  window 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  ' '  How  my  heart  aches 
for  her!" 

A  few  months  later  Mr.  Campbell  stood 
talking  with  Edward  in  the  shop,  on  some 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  127 

matter  of  "business.  He  had  finished  what  he 
had  to  say,  and  was  about  turning  from  the 
young  man,  when,  from  the  impulse  of  some 
thought,  presenting  itself  at  the  moment,  he 
asked, 

"How  old  are  you,  Edward?" 

"I  am  twenty-one  to-day,"  was  replied. 

"Ah !  then  you  are  of  age  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  congratulate  you  on  attaining  your  ma- 
jority," said  Mr.  Campbell,  taking  Edward' s 
hand,  and  grasping  it  warmly.  "  If  the  prom- 
ise of  your  "boyhood  is  fulfilled,  success  and 
honor  lie  before  you.  Since  the  day  you 
came  into  my  shop  as  a  boy,  I  have  never  had 
aught  against  you." 

"  I  have  tried  always  to  do  my  duty,"  said 
the  young  man  modestly. 

"  And  you  have  not  failed.  But  what  are 
your  plans  as  to  the  future  ?"  said  Mr.  Camp- 
bell. 

"I  have  no  plans,  sir." 

"  I  should  like  you  still  to  hold  your  pres- 
ent situation." 


128  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

"I  have  no  wish  to  change,"  was  replied. 

"You  have  made  my  interests  your  own," 
said  Mr.  Campbell,  speaking  slowly,  like  a 
man  who  desired  his  words  to  be  understood 
and  remembered,  "and  hereafter  your  inter- 
ests shall  be  mine.  Remember  that  I  am  in 
earnest,  Edward,"  and  turning  away  he  left 
the  shop. 

What  a  happy  mother  was  Mrs.  Strong  on 
that  birthday  evening  of  her  son,  when  he  re- 
peated to  her  the  words  of  Mr.  Campbell !  Her 
heart  beat  in  great  throbs  of  pleasure,  and 
swelled  with  pride  and  gratitude. 

"  O,  my  son  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  have 
made  my  cup  brimming  with  joy." 

It  was  three  or  four  weeks  subsequent  to 
this  time,  when  a  young  man,  fashionably 
dressed,  entered  the  office  of  a  prominent 
citizen,  and  said  to  an  attendant,  in  a  curt, 
half  insolent  way. 

"Is  Mr.  H in?" 

"He  is,"  replied  the  attendant. 

"  Then  I  wish  to  see  him." 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  129 

"  Will  you  take  a  seat,  sir  ?  He  is  engaged 
just  now." 

"How  long  will  he  "be  engaged  ?"  asked  the 
young  man,  rudely. 

"Not  long.     Sit  down." 

The  visitor  muttered  something  impatiently, 
and  commenced  walking  the  floor  in  a  restless 
way.  After  a  few  minutes  he  turned  to  the 
attendant  and  said, 

"Go  and  tell  Mr.  H that  Charles  Ray- 

nor  wishes  to  see  him." 

The  attendant  went  into  the  next  room,  and 
returned  in  a  few  moments,  saying  that  Mr. 

H would  be  at  leisure  in  five  minutes.  At 

the  end  of  this  time  a  gentleman,  with  whom 

Mr.  H had  been  engaged,  came  out,  when 

the  young  man  passed  in. 

"  G-ood  morning,  Charles,"  said  Mr.  H , 

smiling,  and  extending  his  hand,  as  his  visitor 

entered.  Mr.  H was  a  man  somewhat 

past  middle  age,  with  a  face  that  indicated 
solidity  of  character,  united  with  an  intelligent 
experience  of  life.  The  smile  with  which  he 
greeted  the  young  man,  played  for  only  a  mo- 
9 


130  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

ment  or  two  about  Ms  lips,  when  Ms  look  be- 
came grave. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Charles,  as  he  sat  down 

at  the  request  of  Mr.  H ,  "you  are  aware 

that  I  am  of  age  to-day." 

"Yes,  Charles,  lam  aware  of  it,"  replied 
Mr.  H . 

"And  you  are  also  aware,"  said  Charles, 
"that  according  to  my  father's  will  I  am  now 
to  receive  my  share  of  his  estate." 

Mr.  H bowed  in  acquiescence. 

"On  what  day  will  you  be  prepared  to 
place  me  in  possession  of  the  property?" 

"  Whenever  you  desire  it." 

"I  desire  it  now,"  said  the  young  man — 
"  that  is,  just  as  soon  as  the  proper  legal 
papers  can  be  executed.  To-day  I  want  five 
thousand  dollars.  Can  I  have  it  ?" 

Mr.  H looked  at  the  stripling,  whose 

face  already  bore  sad  evidences  of  sensual  in- 
dulgence and  evil  passion,  and  he  hesitated 
to  reply. 

"Did  you  understand  me,  sir  ?"  The  man- 
ner of  Charles  Raynor  was  impatient. 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  131 

"  I  understand  yon,  Charles." 

"  Very  well.  Can  I  have  the  money  to- 
day !» 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  be  intensive,  Charles  ; 
bnt  as  yonr  late  father' s  friend,  and  yonrs 
also,  I  will  ventnre  to  ask  as  to  the  nse  yon 
wish  to  make  of  this  large  snm  of  money?" 

The  yonng  man  drew  himself  np  with  an 
offended  air,  and  said,  with  an  effort  to  be 
dignified — 

"  I  believe,  sir,  that  I  am  fully  competent 
to  manage  my  own  business.  I  am  a  man, 
and  responsible  to  no  one." 

Mr.  H bowed  coldly,  and  replied, 

"Come  at  one  o'clock,  sir,  and  I  will  be 
ready  for  yon." 

Charles  drew  ont  his  watch  and  looked  at 
it  with  an  air  of  disappointment.  It  was  jnst 
ten  o'clock. 

"At  one,  did  yon  say?"  A  slight  frown 
contracted  his  brows. 

"  Yes,  sir;  at  one  o'clock." 

Charles  bowed  formally  and  withdrew.  He 
had  scarcely  left  the  office  when  Mr.  H 


132  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

took  up  Ms  hat  and  went  out  in  a  hurried 
manner.  His  steps  were  directed  to  the  house 
of  Mrs.  Raynor,  with  whom  he  asked  an  in- 
terview. 

"Your  son  is  of  age  to-day,"  he  said,  on 
meeting  Mrs.  Raynor. 

"  Yes  ;  this  is  his  twenty-first  birthday," 
but  in  a  tone  that  gave  no  sign  of  pleasure. 

"  He  has  just  been  to  see  me." 

Mrs.  Raynor  looked,  with  a  sober  counte- 
nance, into  the  executor' s  face,  but  made  no 
reply. 

"  He  wishes  to  come  into  possession  of  his 
portion  of  his  father's  estate  at  once,"  said 
Mr.  H . 

Mrs.  Raynor' s  face  grew  troubled. 

"He  will  squander  it  like  water,  I  fear," 
she  said. 

"  I  fear  as  much,''  remarked  the  executor. 

"Is  there  no  way  to  keep  it  out  of  his 
hands?"  asked  the  mother. 

"I  think  not,"  was  replied.  "The  pro- 
visions of  the  will  are  specific.  I  call,  now, 
to  mention  that  he  wants  five  thousand  dol- 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  133 

lars  to-day,  and  is  very  urgent  about  the  mat- 
ter." 

"  Five  thousand  dollars  !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Raynor,  with  a  look  of  distress :  "what  pos- 
sible use  can  he  have  for  a  sum  of  money  like 
that?" 

"!N"o  good  use,  I  fear,"  returned  Mr.  H . 

"Don't  give  it  to  him,"  said  Mrs.  Ray- 
nor, in  a  tone  of  much  feeling. 

"  It  will  be  an  unpardonable  offence,"  sug- 
gested the  executor,  "leading  to  a  break  be- 
tween us,  "and  the  destruction  of  all  my  in- 
fluence over  him  in  the  future.  Is  it  well  to 
risk  this  consequence  1" 

The  face  of  Mrs.  Raynor  grew  still  more 
distressed. 

"  I  see,  I  see,"  she  answered,  wringing  her 
hands  in  a  nervous,  excited  manner.  "And 
if  your  influence  is  lost,  there  is  no  hope  of 
him.  He  won't  take  a  word  of  remonstrance 
or  advice  from  me.  Oh,  I  have  wished  a  hun- 
dred times  that  his  father  had  died  poor." 

"It  would  have  been  better  for  the  boy, 
I'm  sure,"  said  Mr.  H .  "But»the  ques- 


134  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

tion  now  is,  shall  I  give  him  the  money  he 
demands  ?  It  is  his  Tby  right,  and  if  I  withhold 
it  now,  it  can  only  be  for  a  short  time." 

"Do  as  you  think  "best,"  replied  Mrs. 
Raynor,  tears  flowing  over  her  pale  cheeks  ; 
"but,  above  all  things,  do  not  offend  him. 
My  only  hope  is  in  you.  When  your  control 
is  lost,  he  is  lost." 

And  the  poor  mother's  frame  shook  with  the 
wild  strife  of  her  feelings. 

At  one  o'  clock,  to  a  minute,  Charles  Raynor 

called  at  the  office  of  Mr.  H ,  who  was 

grieved  to  see  that  he  had  been  drinking. 

"I  will  take  that  money,"  he  said,  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  expected  an  immediate  com- 
pliance with  his  wishes. 

"  It  would  suit  me  better  to  pay  the  amount 

to-morrow,"  replied  Mr.  H ,  in  a  mild, 

conciliating  tone.  "Can't  you  possibly  do 
without  it  until  to-morrow  ?" 

"Didn't  I  say  that  I  wanted  it  to-day?" 
The  young  man  showed  some  irritation. 

"You  did,  Charles." 

"Very well,  sir;  I  meant  just  what  I  said. 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  135 

You  told  me  that  you  would  be  ready  for  me 
at  one  o'clock  ;  and  here  I  am." 

Seeing  that  it  would  be  in  vain  to  parley 
with  the  young  man,  th**  executor  took  down 
his  check-book,  and  filled  out  a  check  for  five 
thousand  dollars.  He  then  wrote  a  receipt  in 
due  form,  and  required  Charles  to  sign  it. 
On  handing  him  the  check,  he  said, 

"  Your  property  is  in  stocks  and  real  estate. 
The  real  estate  is  paying  a  good  interest,  and 
the  stocks  are  among  the  safest  in  the  market. 
I  shall  have  to  sell  some  of  these  stocks  in 
order  to  realize  the  amount  I  now  pay 
you." 

"  We'll  talk  about  that  another  time,"  said 
Charles,  interrupting  Mr.  H almost  rude- 
ly, and  turning  away,  he  left  the  office. 

Charles  was  not  at  home  at  tea-time.  Ten, 
eleven,  twelve,  one  o'  clock  came,  and  still  he 
was  absent.  It  was  not  a  novel  thing  for  him 
to  be  out  late  at  night ;  indeed,  he  was  rarely 
home  before  twelve  or  one  o'clock.  On  this 
occasion  Mrs.  Raynor  did  not  go  to  bed  as 
usual.  The  fact  that  her  son  had  demanded 


136  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

and  probably  received,  five  thousand  dollars, 
caused  her  to  feel  great  concern  on  his  ac- 
count, and  she  could  not  retire  without  seeing 
him.  Long  after  every  member  of  the  house- 
hold, except  her  son,  was  locked  in  slumber, 
she  sat  in  anxious  expectation,  or  walked  the 
floor  of  her  room  with  a  troubled  spirit ;  or 
stood,  hushing  her  breath,  at  the  window, 
listening  for  the  sound  of  his  well-known  foot- 
steps. It  was  one  of  the  saddest  nights  she 
had  ever  spent.  She  felt  that  her  son  stood 
upon  the  brink  of  a  wildly- rushing  river,  and 
in  imminent  danger  of  being  swept  away  by 
the  all-conquering  flood.  How  feeble  were 
her  hands !  Yet  she  felt  that  she  must  clutch 
after  him,  and  hold  him  back  from  ruin,  if 
that  were  possible. 

It  was  nearly  two  o'clock  when  Charles 
came  home.  He  entered  with  his  night-key, 
ascended  the  stairs,  and  was  passing  the 
room  of  his  mother,  when  the  door  opened 
and  she  stood  before  him. . 

"You  are  late  to-night,  my  son,"  she  said, 
in  a  kind,  but  grave  voice. 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  137 

He  tried  to  pass  her,  "but  she  laid  her  hand 
on  his  arm. 

"Come  into  my  room,  Charles,  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you." 

The  young  man  followed  his  mother  as  she 
stepped  tack  into  her  chamber.  Drawing 
him  to  a  sofa,  she  sat  down  beside  him,  and 
looked  earnestly  into  his  face,  the  stronger 
light  of  her  room  enabling  her  to  examine  it 
closely.  He  did  not  meet  her  steady,  search- 
ing glances,  but  looked  past  her,  and  tried  to 
avert  his  countenance. 

"Charles,"  Mrs.  Raynor  spoke  in  an  im- 
pressive manner,  "you  were  twenty-one  to- 
day ;  but  I  am  still  your  mother,  and  more 
interested  in  your  welfare  than  any  other 
human  soul  can  possibly  be.  And  now,  may 
I  take  a  mother' s  privilege,  and  ask  where 
you  have  been  to-day,  and  what  you  have 
done  with  the  five  thousand  dollars  you  re- 
ceived from  Mr.  H ?" 

The  manner  of  Charles  became  instantly 
excited.  He  started  from  the  sofa,  and  re- 
plied in  an  impatient  voice. 


138  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

"I  do  not  care  to  be  questioned  in  this 
style,  mother !  I  had  use  for  that  sum  of 
money,  and  have  disposed  of  it  in  an  honor- 
able way." 

"In  that  case,  Charles,  there  is  no  reason 
why  you  should  hesitate  about  satisfying  me 
in  regard  to  the  way." 

"Well,  I  don't  choose  to  satisfy  you,"  an- 
swered the  young  man,  rather  sharply,  and 
showing  still  greater  disturbance  of  manner ; 
"and  you  might  as  well  understand,  once  for 
all,  that  I  don't  mean  to  be  catechised,  or  lec- 
tured, or  interfered  with.  I'm  old  enough,  it 
strikes  me,  to  know  my  own  business,  and 
manage  my  own  affairs." 

Mrs.  Raynor's  face  grew  very  pale,  and 
she  caught  her  breath  several  times  in  a 
choking  way.  For  some  moments  the  mother 
and  son  sat  very  still ;  then  the  latter  arose, 
and  without  a  word,  passed  from  the  cham- 
ber and  went  to  his  own  apartment.  As  he 
left  her  room,  the  mother  sank  upon  her 
knees,  and  bending  down  low  upon  the  sofa, 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  An  hour 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  139 

passed,  and  she  still  crouched  there,  like  one 
who  had  fallen  asleep  ;  but  her  soul  was  too 
full  of  fear  and  pain  for  the  opiate  of  slum- 
ber. Almost  wildly  she  prayed  for  her  son, 
until  the  very  bitterness  of  her  agony  para- 
lyzed her  mind,  and  she  sank  into  a  dull,  heart- 
aching  stupor,  in  which  she  took  scarcely  a 
note  of*  the  passing  time.  Morning  found  her 
lying  across  her  bed,  asleep. 

When  the  mother  and  son  met  at  breakfast 
time  a  barrier  of  reserve  had  been  thrown  up 
between  them.  Mrs.  Raynor  tried  to  cast  it 
down,  but  Charles  held  it  firmly  in  its  place. 
He  was  a  man,  now,  coming  into  possession  of 
a  fortune,  which  he  meant  to  use  as  his  own 
judgment  and  inclination  dictated ;  he  wished 
no  interference  from  any  one,  not  even  from  his 
mother.  Mrs.  Eaynor  tried  to  renew  the  con- 
versation of  the  night  before,  but  he  affected 
not  to  understand  her ;  and  when  she  pressed 
the  subject,  he  threw  her  off  impatiently. 

Thus  it  was  that  Charles  Raynor  started  in 
life  with  his  legacy  of  sixty  thousand  dollars. 
There  were  many  who  thought  him  a  most- 


140  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

fortunate  young  man.    Whether  this  was  so 
or  not,  the  sequel  will  prove. 


"Twenty-five  to-day,"  said  Edward  Strong, 
looking  across  the  table  at  his  mother  and 
sister.  It  was  evening,  and  they  were  sitting 
in  a  neatly  furnished  room.  The  mother  and 
sister  were  sewing ;  Edward  had  "been  read- 
ing. The  house  they  occupied  was  not  that 
old,  unattractive  one  from  which  we  saw  a 
funeral  pass  more  than  ten  years  ago,  "but  a 
pleasant  dwelling  of  larger  size  and  ample 
accommodations. 

Mrs.  Strong  raised  her  eyes,  and  looked 
fondly  across  the  table  at  her  son. 

"How  fast  the  years  go  by,"  she  said. 
"Twenty-five!  it  seems  but  yesterday  that 
you  were  a  boy." 

"I  expect  a  visitor  to-night,"  said  Edward. 

' '  Who  ?' '  was  inquired. 

"Mr.  Campbell.  As  I  was  coming  away 
this  evening,  he  asked  me  where  I  lived,  say- 
ing that  he  wished  to  have  some  conversation 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  141 

•with  me  on  a  matter  of  business,  and  would 
call  around." 

Just  then  the  bell  rung.  In  a  few  moments 
word  was  brought  to  Edward  that  a  gentle- 
man was  down  stairs  and  wished  to  see  him. 
It  was  Mr.  Campbell. 

"You  have  a  very  pleasant  house,  Ed- 
ward," said  his  employer,  as  he  took  the 
young  man' s  hand. 

"Yes,  sir  ;  we  live  very  comfortably." 

"  How  is  your  mother  V 

"  In  very  good  health,  I  thank  you,  sir." 

There  was  a  pause  for  a  few  moments, 
when  Mr.  Campbell  said, 

"I'm  about  making  some  changes  in  my 
business,  which  has  increased  so  much  of 
late,  that  its  management  has  become  very 
burdensome ;  and  I  must  lay  some  of  my 
cares  on  other  and  younger  shoulders.  Mr. 
Hewitt,  my  oldest  salesman,  has  been  with 
me  since  he  was  a  boy,  and  has  always 
shown  himself  true  to  my  interests.  You 
have  also  been  with  me  since  you  were  a 
boy,  and  have  also  shown  yourself  true  to 


142  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

my  interests.  I  now  propose  to  unite  you 
and  Mr.  Hewitt  with  me  in  business.  I  have 
already  conversed  with  him,  and  now  open 
the  subject  to  you.  He  will  have  entire 
charge  of  the  selling  department ;  and  you,  if 
you  enter  the  firm,  of  the  manufacturing  de- 
partment. How  does  the  matter  strike  you  ?" 

"And  you're  really  in  earnest,  sir?"  Ed- 
ward could  hardly  believe  that  he  heard 
aright. 

"Altogether  in  earnest,"  replied  Mr.  Camp- 
bell. "You  can  turn  the  matter  over  in 
your  mind,  and  give  me  an  answer  at  your 
earliest  convenience." 

"It  needs  no  turning  over,  sir,"  was  Ed- 
ward's frankly  spoken  answer.  "No  de- 
liberation. I  say  yes,  without  an  instant's 
hesitation." 

"  Then  the  matter  is  settled,  as  to  the  fact," 
said  Mr.  Campbell;  "and  we  have  only  to 
arrange  the  terms  of  copartnership.  In  a 
few  days  I  will  prepare  a  basis,  when  we  can 
all  meet  and  come  to  a  full  understanding." 

When  Mr.  Campbell  retired,  and  Edward 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  143 

went  up  stairs,  his  mother  and  sister  met  him 
with  inquiring  words,  as  well  as  inquiring 
faces. 

"What  did  Mr.  Camplbell  want?"  was 
asked,  with  undisguised  interest. 

Edward  took  his  place  at  the  table,  and 
looking  across  it  at  his  mother,  said,  while 
his  whole  countenance  lit  up  with  a  pleasure 
that  he  could  not  suppress, 

"As  you  would  never  for  a  moment  ima- 
gine the  good  fortune  that  has  come  to  my 
door,  I  will  tell  you.  Mr.  Campbell  has 
offered  me  an  interest  in  his  business.  '  I  am 
to  be  a  partner." 

"Oh,  Edward!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Strong,  her 
face  flushing  with  pride  and  joy.  "This  is 
indeed  good  fortune.  I  could  have  asked 
nothing  better  for  you  than  this.  But,  what 
to  me  is  best  of  all,  is  the  fact  that  you  have 
so  honestly  and  patiently  worked  your  way 
to  this  position.  That  the  good  name  your 
father  left  you  has  never  in  a  single  instance 
been  tarnished ;  that  our  family  heirloom  is 
as  bright  to-day,  as  when  it  passed  into  your 


144  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

keeping.  It  was  a  richer  legacy  than  gold, 
that  may  "be  scattered  in  a  day ;  but  this  will 
endure  forever." 


A  different  scene  from  this  was  passing  in 
the  house  of  Mrs.  Raynor.  That  unhappy 
mother  sat  before  her  elegant  rosewood  escri- 
toir,  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  and 
an  open  letter  lying  beside  her.  She  had 
been  weeping ;  but  the  wild  turbulence  of 
her  feelings  had  subsided,  and  she  was  now 
pondering  sadly  the  contents  of  this  letter, 
and  trying  to  decide  as  to  her  duty.  Slowly 
removing  her  hands,  and  lifting  herself  up, 
she  took  the  letter,  and  read  the  few  lines  it 
contained,  for  the  third  time.  It  was  dated 
New  Orleans,  and  ran  briefly  thus, — 

"DEARMOTHEK! 

"  Send  me  two  hundred  dollars  immediate- 
ly. I  am  sick,  and  out  of  funds,  and  I  wish 
to  get  home.  Don't  fail,  mother. 

"Affectionately,  your  son, 

"CHAELES." 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  145 

• 

"  I  sent  Mm  three  hundred  dollars  a  month 
ago,"  murmured  Mrs.  Eaynor,  as  she  held 
the  letter  "before  her  eyes.  "But  there  he  is 
still;  the  money  all  wasted.  If  I  send  him 
more,  it  will  "be  spent  in  dissipation,  or  at  the 
gaming  table,  which  has  already  swallowed 
up  every  dollar  of  his  fortune." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  the 
daughter  of  Mrs.  Raynor  came  in.  She  held 
a  letter  in  her  hand. 

"I  have  a  letter  from  Charles,  mother,"  she 
said,  "and  I  want  to  talk  with  you  about  it.' 

The  eyes  of  the  young  girl  were  wet,  and 
her  countenance  depressed  and  troubled. 

"You  a  letter  from  Charles,  Agnes !"  Mrs. 
Raynor  spoke  in  a  tone  of  surprise.  "  When 
did  you  receive  it  ?" 

"To-day." 

"What  does  he  want?" 

"Money." 

"And  from  you?"  said  Mrs.  Raynor,  with 
increased  surprise.  "How  much  does  he 
want?" 

"A  thousand  dollars." 
10 


146  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

"A  thousand  dollars,  Agnes  1" 

"Yes." 

"For  what  purpose  ?" 

"  He  wished  me  to  keep  the  letter  a  secret 
from  you  ;  but,  I  fear  I  have  already  kept  his 
secrets  too  long.  From  first  to.  last,  I  have 
sent  him  over  ten  thousand  dollars." 

1 '  Why,  Agnes ! "  The  color  that  had  come 
into  the  face  of  Mrs.  Raynor,  faded  away, 
and  she  looked  at  her  daughter  with  parted 
lips  and  Tbrows  contracted  with  pain.  "Ten 
thousand  dollars!"  She  repeated  the  words 
in  "blank  astonishment.  "  Why  did  you  keep 
this  from  me,  my  child  ?" 

"  Only  "because  he  desired  it.  I  knew  it 
was  wrong." 

"  Does  Mr.  H know  of  this  ?" 

"  No.  He  often  questioned  me  about  my 
large  drafts  of  money,  "but  I  did  not  give  him 
any  satisfaction." 

"May  I  see  your  brother's  letter?"  asked 
Mrs.  R-aynor. 

Agnes  handed  her  mother  the  letter,  who 
opened  it  and  read, — 


THE  TWO  LEGACIES.  147 

"DEAR  SISTER: 

"  I  must  trespass  once  more  on  your  gene- 
rous kindness.  Send  me  a  thousand  dollars 
without  fail,  immediately.  I  shall  start,  the 
moment  I  receive  it,  with  a  company  of  tra- 
ders for  Santa  Fe.  I  have  a  warm  friend  in 
the  company — a  generous,  noble  fellow — with 
whom  I  am  going  into  business,  on  arriving 
out.  It  is  a  rare  opportunity,  and  I  must  not 
lose  it,  as  I  certainly  shall,  unless  I  receive 
from  you  the  necessary  funds  for  an  outfit. 
Don't  fail  me  now,  dear  Agnes !  Every  thing 
is  at  stake.  A  new  life  is  opening  before  me 
— new  prospects,  new  aims — a  new  sphere  of 
action.  I  have  seen  my  folly,  and  am  re- 
solved to  recover  all  that  I  have  lost.  You 
have  been  a  dear,  good  sister,  and  I  will  soon 
pay  back  all  your  many  favors.  Be  sure  to 
keep  this  from  mother,  and  send  the  money 
without  fail.  CHARLES." 

Mrs.  Raynor  sat  for  some  tune,  after  read- 
ing this  letter,  without  speaking  or  moving, 
then,  looking  up  at  her  daughter,  she  said, 


148  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

"How  long  is  it  since  you  sent  Charles 
money?" 

"About  four  weeks." 

"  How  much  did  you  send  him  then  ?" 

"  A  thousand  dollars." 

"It  can't  be  possible,  Agnes !" 

Mrs.  Raynor  looked  bewildered.  "I  sent 
him  three  hundred  dollars  a  month  ago,  and 
now  he  writes  for  two  hundred  more  saying 
he  is  sick,  and  anxious  to  get  home." 

"Oh,  mother!"  ejaculated  Agnes,  clasping 
her  hands  together,  and  looking  as  pale,  dis- 
tressed, and  bewildered  as  her  mother.  ' '  Has 
he  then  become  so  lost  to  truth  and  honor?" 

Mrs.  Raynor  made  no  answer,  but  her  head 
sunk  slowly  on  her  bosom,  and  she  sat  for 
some  time  like  one  stupefied  by  a  blow. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?"  said  Agnes,  after  a 
long  silence. 

"  Nothing,  until  we  have  had  a  consultation 
with  Mr.  H ,"  replied  the  mother. 

"  Send  him  no  more  money,"  was  the  in- 
junction of  Mr.  H when  the  matter  was 

laid  before  him  for  consideration. 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  149 

"But,  what  can  I  say  to  Mm?"  inquired 
the  anxious  Mrs.  Raynor.  "  He  writes  to  me 
that  he  is  sick,  and  asks  for  money  to  Ibring 
him  home." 

"And  he  writes  to  your  daughter  that  he  is 

going  to  SanteFe,"  said  Mr.  H .  "The 

case  is  clear,  that  he  is  not  sick.  It  is  only  a 
ruse  to  get  money  for  evil  purposes.  If  you 
comply  with  his  wishes,  you  will  waste  your 
money,  and  do  him  an  injury.  Write  to  him 
plainly,  as  only  a  mother  can  and  should 
write  to  her  son.  Let  him  know  that  you 
have  discovered  the  doulble  game  he  has  Ibeen 
playing,  and  rebuke  him  severely  for  his  dis- 
honorable conduct.  Depend  upon  it,  madam, 
a  resolute  bearing  on  your  part  will  be  best 
for  him.  There  should  be  no  temporizing,  no 
sign  of  weakness,  no  appearance  of  any  thing 
but  stern  indignation  at  his  falsehood  and 
baseness.  Pardon  me  for  speaking  so  plain- 
ly." 

"  Mr.  H is  right,"  said  Agnes,  in  a  firm 

tone.  "To  send  him  money  is  like  pouring  it 
into  a  sieve.  He  has  spent  all  his  own  for- 


150  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

tune  recklessly  and  riotously,  and  has  com- 
menced spending  ours  in  the  same  way." 

"The  simple  truth,"  remarked  Mr.  H . 

"Take  my  advice,  and  either  write  to  him  in 
stern  denial  and  rebuke,  or  remain  wholly 
silent.  Throw  him  upon  his  own  resources, 
and  let  him  earn  his  living  as  an  honest  man. 
Withhold  from  him  the  money  he  demands, 
and  his  false  friends  and  evil  associates  will 
drop  from  him  like  leaves  from  a  frost-touch- 
ed tree.  Such  an  abandonment  will  be  a 
blessing.  It  would  remove  him  in  a  degree 
from  a  charmed  circle,  or  rather  a  whirling 
vortex,  in  whose  centre  is  the  pit  of  destruc- 
tion. Necessity  will  force  him  to  some  useful 
employment,  and  in  that  lies  our  only  hope." 

Acting  upon  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  H , 

Mrs.  Raynor  wrote  a  plain,  rebuking  letter  to 
Charles,  denying  him  any  further  advances  of 
money.  With  anxious  suspense,  she  waited 
for  an  answer  to  this  letter,  a  thousand  vague 
fears  haunting  her  imagination.  Her  son  was 
in  a  strange  city,  without  money,  without 
friends,  and  without  skill  in  any  useful  work. 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  151 

How  then  was  he  to  sustain  himself?  What 
then  could  he  do  in  the  way  of  earning  his 
own  livelihood?  Might  not  this  abandon- 
ment drive  him  to  desperation — to  crime  ?  A 
low  shudder  crept  through  the  mother's 
heart,  as  she  thought  thus  in  regard  to  her 
son. 

"I  fear,"  she  said  to  her 'daughter,  as  she 
sat  with  the  one  thought  of  Charles  in  her 
mind,  "  that  we  have  done  wrong  in  follow- 
ing so  closely  the  advice  of  Mr.  H .  If  your 

brother  is  without  money,  and  among  stran- 
gers, what  is  he  to  do  ?  How  is  he  to  help 
himself?  What  if  he  should  do  some  despe- 
rate act?  I  shudder  to  think  of  it?  The 
thought  haunted  me  all  through  the  night. 
I  could  not  have  slept  an  hour." 

Just  then  the  door-bell  rung,  and  the  moth- 
er and  daughter  listened  in  silence  while  a 
servant  answered  the  summons.  They  did 
not  hear  the  door  shut  again  after  it  "was 
opened,  but  the  servant's  steps  came  back; 
along  the  hall,  showing  that  a  messenger  was 
in  waiting  for  an  answer.  He  came  in  hold- 


152  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

ing  a  letter  in  his  hand,  and  said  as  he 
handed  it  to  Mrs.  Raynor, 

"A  dispatch,  ma'am,  and  the  boy  wishes 
to  know  if  there  is  an  answer." 

A  deathlike  paleness  overspread  the  face 
of  Mrs.  Raynor,  as  she  caught  eagerly  the  mis- 
sive, and  opened  it  with  hands  that  trem- 
bled like  aspen-leaves.  There  was  a  moment 
of  "breathless  suspense ;  then,  with  a  cry  of 
anguish,  Mrs.  Raynor  fell  back  in  her  chair, 
lost  to  all  present  consciousness.  As  the  dis- 
patch fell  from  her  hands,  Agnes  caught  it 
up  and  read  it  at  a  glance.  Her  brother  was 
dead.  A  pistol-shot  had  ended  his  feverish 
life,  though  by  whose  hands  the  fatal  ball  had 
reached  his  heart,  the  communication  did  not 
say.  But  the  sorrowful  truth  came  too  soon 
— he  had  fallen  by  his  own  rash  hand.  Thus 
the  legacy  of  his  father  had  proved  to  him  a 
curse,  instead  of  a  blessing.  If  he  had  re- 
ceived with  it  right  principles,  a  carefully 
trained  mind,  and  habits  of  industry,  his 
wealth  might  have  been  the  means  of  happi- 
ness to  himself  and  usefulness  to  others.  But 


THE    TWO    LEGACIES.  153 

money  without  these  was  to  him,  as  it  is  to 
all  others  like  him,  a  power  for  evil  instead 
of  good. 

Is  there  any  question  as  to  which  of  the 
two  legacies  was  Ibest ;  any  question  in  the 
mind  of  the  young  man,  who  has  the  world 
all  before  him,  with  only  his  strong  hands, 
clear  head,  and  honest  purposes,  "by  which  to 
reach  its  high  places;  any  question  in  the 
mind  of  the  father,  whose  love  for  his  chil- 
dren prompts  him  to  seek  their  highest  good  ? 
There  can  Ibe  none ! 


154  HIDDEN    WINGS. 


VI. 
CATCHING  A  SUNBEAM. 

THE  sun  is  always  shining  in  the  sky  of 
our  lives,  and  his  "beams  coming  down  to 
gladden  the  earth.  But  into  how  few  hearts 
do  they  find  their  way !  The  earth  upon 
which  our  minds  dwell,  has,  like  the  material 
earth,  its  dense  forests,  its  deep,  dim  valleys, 
its  dark  caves  and  caverns,  into  which  the 
sunlight  rarely,  if  ever,  comes.  It  would 
seem  as  if  many  people  loved  these  gloomy 
shades,  and  hid  themselves,  of  choice,  away 
from  the  bright  and  beautiful  sunshine. 
They  carry  shadows  in  their  hearts  and  shad- 
ows on  their  faces.  When  they  come  into 
your  presence  it  seems  as  if  the  air  was  sud- 
denly darkened  by  a  passing  cloud. 

Mr.  Hickman  was  one  of  these  men  who 
walk  for  the  most  part,  in  dark  valleys,  or 


CATCHING    A    SUNBEAM.  155 

sit  in  dreary  caverns.  Barely,  if  ever,  on  re- 
turning home,  did  he  "bring  light  into  Ms 
dwelling.  If  there  was  merry  laughter 
among  the  children  on  his  entrance,  their 
voices  were  hushed ;  if  love' s  light  "beamed 
from  the  countenance  of  his  wife,  as  she 
sported  with  her  little  ones,  it  faded  away, 
giving  place  to  a  sober,  thoughtful,  half- 
troubled  look.  He  always  came  home  bring- 
ing a  shadow  with  him,  and  sat,  for  the  most 
part,  in  this  shadow,  through  all  the  cheer- 
less evenings. 

Why  was  this  ?  Was  there  a  great  trouble 
in  the  heart  of  Mr.  Hickman  ?  Had  he  passed 
through  some  depressing  misfortune,  or  suf- 
fered some  terrible  affliction?  No.  It  was 
as  well  with  him  as  with  most  people — better 
than  with  a  very  large  number.  His  busi- 
ness was  prosperous,  and  every  year  he 
added  many  thousands  of  dollars  to  his  rapid  • 
ly  accumulating  fortune.  But  he  was  not  a 
man  possessing  an  orderly  adjusted  mind — 
was  easily  disturbed  by  trifles,  and  annoyed 
by  incidents  that  should,  .not  have  affected 


156  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

him  any  more  than  the  buzzing  of  a  fly.  But 
the  real  cause  lay  deeper  and  mpre  hidden, 
grounded  in  an  inordinate  selfishness,  that 
robbed  him  of  the  pleasure  which  might  have 
attended  success,  through  envy  of  others' 
good  fortune.  He  was  jealous  of  his  com- 
peers in  business,  and  always  experienced  a 
disagreeable  sensation  when  he  heard  them 
spoken  of  as  successful.  ISTo  wonder  that 
sunlight  could  not  find  its  way  into  his  heart. 
Envy  and  ill-will,  burn  in  what  heart  they 
may,  always  send  up  a  black  smoke  that  ob- 
scures the'  heavens.  The  sun  is  there,  shin- 
ing as  brightly  as  ever,  but  his  rays  cannot 
penetrate  this  cloud  of  passion.  ISTo  day 
passed  in  which  something  did  not  occur  to 
disturb  or  cloud  the  mind  of  Mr.  Hickman ; 
and  so,  evening  after  evening  he  came  home, 
bringing  with  him  shadow  instead  of  sun- 
light. Oh,  what  a  desecration  of  home  was 
this!  of  home,  where  the  heart's  sunlight 
should  ever  dwell,  and  a  heart- warmth  per- 
vade all  the  sweet  atmosphere.  Nothing  of 
external  good  was  denied  by  Mr.  Hickman  to 


CATCHING    A    SUNBEAM.  157 

his  family.  They  had  all  of  happiness  that 
money  could  Ibuy.  Yet  how  far  from  happi- 
ness were  his  wife  and  children.  They  were 
drooping  for  sunshine — the  sunshine  of  smiles, 
and  pleasant  words,  and  joyous  laughter. 
But  these  came  not  from  Mr.  Hickman.  He 
sat  among  them  grim  and  gloomy,  for  the 
most  part,  like  some  somlbre  heathen  divinity 
— half  dreaded,  half  propitiated. 

Mr.  Hickman  was  not  so  stolid  Ibut  that  he 
saw  in  this  the  existence  of  a  wrong.  He 
loved  his  wife  and  children,  desired  their 
good,  and  was  ready  to  make  almost  any  sac- 
rifice for  them  that  he  knew  how  to  make. 
Even  as  he  sat  moodily  in  his  home,  con- 
scious that  his  presence  rested  like  a  night- 
mare on  the  spirits  of  his  wife  and  children, 
he  would  say  to  himself — 

"This  is  not  right.  I  should  "bring  home 
pleasant  words  and  cheerful  smiles." 

Yet  almost  as  he  said  this  would  his 
thought  go  "back  to  some  incident  of  the  day, 
which  mere  selfishness  gave  power  to  disturb 
his  feelings,  and  he  would  go  off  again  into  a 


158  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

brooding  state  of  mind,  out  of  which  he  had 
not  resolution  enough  to  lift  himself.  Often 
it  happened  that  his  children  sought,  in  the 
outgushing  gladness  of  their  hearts,  to  break 
the  spell  that  was  on  him — but  almost  always 
he  repulsed  them — sometimes  coldly,  some- 
times fretfully,  and  sometimes  in  sudden 
anger — so  that,  at  last,  they  rarely  came  near 
or  spoke  to  him,  as  he  sat  through  his  silent 
evenings. 

"  Wrong,  all  wrong,"  Mr.  Hickman  often 
said  to  himself,  as  the  shadow  fell  darker  on 
his  home.  But  a  knowledge  of  the  evil  did 
not  bring  a  knowledge  of  the  cure,  or,  rather, 
that  self-conquest  which  must  precede  a  cure. 
He  must  let  the  sunshine  come  into  his  own 
heart  ere  he  could  pour  forth  its  rays  on 
other  hearts.  He  must  come  out  of  the  dense 
forests,  and  gloomy  valleys,  and  dusky  cav- 
erns, into  the  clear  sunshine;  but  how  was 
he  to  come  out?  Who  was  to  lead  him 
forth? 

One  day,  as  Mr.  Hickman  sat  in  his  count- 
ing-room conversing  with  a  gentleman,  a  lad 


CATCHING    A    SUNBEAM.  159 

came  in  from  the  store  to  ask  him  some  ques- 
tion about  "business.  Mr.  Hickman  replied  in 
a  curt  way,  and  the  lad  went  out. 

"What  is  that  boy's  name?"  asked  the 
gentleman. 

"Frank  Edwards,"  was  replied. 

"I  thought  so.  He's  a  fine  boy.  How 
long  has  he  been  with  you  ?" 

"  About  three  months." 

"  Does  he  give  satisfaction  ?" 

"Yes." 

"I'm  pleased  to  hear  it.  His  mother  lives 
in  our  neighborhood,  and  my  wife  has  taken 
considerable  interest  in  her.  She  is  very  poor 
and  in  feeble  health.  She  maintains  herself, 
by  sewing ;  but  that  kind  of  exhausting  toil 
is  wasting  her  life  rapidly.  Frank  is  her 
only  child,  and  the  only  one  to  whom  she  can 
look  for  any  help.  I  am  glad  you  like 
him." 

Nothing  more  was  said  on  the  subject,  but 
it  did  not  pass  from  the  mind  of  Mr.  Hick- 
man. He  had  taken  the  lad  a  few  months  be- 
fore on  trial,  and  it  was  understood  that  if  he 


160  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

gave  satisfaction,  he  was  to  be  put  on  wages 
after  six  months. 

"The  boy  is  faithful,  intelligent  and  ac- 
tive," said  Mr.  Hickman,  speaking  to  him- 
self. "  If  it  is  so  with  his  mother,  he  must  be 
put  on  wages  now." 

This  conclusion  in  the  mind  of  Mr.  Hick- 
man was  attended  with  a  sense  of  pleasure. 
His  heart  had  opened  just  a  little,  and  two  or 
three  sunbeams,  with  their  light  and  warmth, 
had  gone  down  into  it. 

"What  shall  I  pay  him  for  his  services?" 
said  Mr.  Hickman  to  himself,  still  dwelling 
on  the  subject. 

"There  are  plenty  of  lads  tq  be  obtained  at 
a  couple  of  dollars  a  week,  for  the  first  one  or 
two  years ;  or  even  for  nothing,  in  considera- 
tion of  the  opportunity  for  learning  a  good 
business  in  a  good  house.  But  Frank' s  case 
is  peculiar,  and  must  be  considered  by  itself. 
There  is  a  question  of  humanity  involved. 
His  mother  is  poor  and  sick,  and  she  has  no 
hope  but  in  him.  Let  me  see  ;  shall  I  make 
it  three  dollars  a  week  ?  That  will  help  them 


CATCHING    A    SUNBEAM.  161 

considerably.  But,  dear  me!  three  dollars 
will  hardly  pay  for  Frank' s  eating.  I  must 
do  something  better  than  that.  Say  four  dol- 
lars." 

Mr.  Hickman  dropped  his  head  a  little,  and 
sat  turning  the  matter  over  in  his  mind.  He 
had  once  "been  a  poor  boy,  with  a  mother  in 
feeble  health ;  and  he  remembered  how  hard 
it  was  for  him  to  get  along — how  many  priva- 
tions his  mother  had  to  endure ;  and  yet  their 
income  was  nearly  double  the  amount  he 
thought  of  giving  Frank.  Mr.  Hickman  had 
always  loved  his  mother,  and  this  memory  of 
her  softened  his  feelings  still  more  toward  the 
poor  widow,  for  whom  an  appeal  had  come  to 
him  so  unexpectedly. 

"Frank  is  an  unusually  bright  boy,"  said 
Mr.  Hickman.  "  He  has  an  aptness  for  busi- 
ness ;  is  prompt  and  faithful.  I  can  afford  to 
make  his  salary  liberal— for  a  boy  it  shall  be 
liberal.  I'll  pay  him  six  dollars  now,  and  if 
he  goes  on  improving  as  fast  as  he  has  done 
so  far,  it  will  not  be  long  before  I  can  make  it 
better  for  him." 
11 


162  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

Mr.  Hickman  arose,  and  going  to  the  count- 
ing-room door,  called  the  lad,  who  came  in 
immediately. 

"How  do  you  like  our  business,  Frank?" 
asked  Mr.  Hickman,  in  a  kind  way. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  replied  the  "boy,  prompt- 

iy. 

"  And  you  would  like  to  remain  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  if  I  give  satisfaction." 

"You  have  done  very  well,  so  far,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Hickman ;  "  so  well,  that  I  have 
concluded  to  put  you  on  wages  now,  instead 
of  waiting  until  the  six  months  of  trial  have 
expired." 

The  boy  started,  and  a  quick  flush  of  sur- 
prise and  pleasure  went  over  his  face. 

"I  did  not  expect  it,  sir,"  he  said,  grate- 
fully. ' '  You  are  very  good. ' ' 

"Your  mother  is  not  well,  I  hear,"  said 
Mr.  Hickman. 

Frank's  eyes  glistened  as  he  answered, 
"No,  sir ;  she  has  been  sick  for  a  good  while ; 
and  I'm  so  glad  to  be  put  on  wages,  for  now 
I  can  help  her." 


CATCHING    A    SUNBEAM.  163 

"Will  you  give  all  your  wages  to  your 
mother?" 

"  Oh,  yes  indeed,  sir ;  every  cent,  if  it  was 
ten  dollars  a  week." 

"I  see  you're  a  good  boy,  Frank,"  said 
Mr.  Hickman,  his  heart  still  softening,  "and 
your  wages  shall  be  six  dollars." 

The  boy  struck  his  hands  together  witli 
sudden  joy,  exclaiming, 

"  Oh,  mother  will  be  so  glad  !• — so  glad !" 

As  he  went  back  into  the  store,  Mr.  Hick- 
man sat  quietly  in  his  chair,  feeling  happier 
than  he  had  been  for  a  long  time.  When  the 
sun  went  down,  and  Frank  came  in  to  shut 
the  windows  of  the  counting-room,  Mr.  Hick- 
man handed  him  a  sealed  envelope,  saying, 

"Take  this  to  your  mother.  It  contains 
thirty-six  dollars,  as  your  wages,  at  three 
dollars  a  week  for  twelve  weeks,  the  time 
you  have  been  in  my  store.  Tell  your 
mother  that  you  have  been  a  good,  industrious 
boy,  and  have  earned  the  money." 

Frank  took  the  little  package  in  silence  ; 
'  his  feelings  were  so  much  overcome  by  this 


164  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

additional  good  fortune,  that  he  could  not 
speak  his  thanks.  But  his  eyes  told  what 
was  in  his  heart,  and  Mr.  Hickman  under- 
stood them. 

There  are  many  ways  to  catch  sunbeams, 
if  we  would  only  set  traps  for  them.  Nay, 
there  is  no  occasion  to  go  to  that  trouble. 
The  air  is  full  of  sunbeams,  and  we  have  only 
to  open  the  doors  and  windows  of  our  hearts, 
and  they  will  enter  in  countless  multitudes. 
But  the  doors  and  windows  of  most  people' s 
hearts  are  shut  and  barred  as  was  the  heart 
of  Mr.  Hickman.  How  are  they  to  be 
opened?  Just  as  the  doors  and  windows 
of  his  heart  were  opened — by  kindness  to 
others. 

When  Mr.  Hickman  took  his  way  home- 
ward, his  step  was  lighter  and  his  feelings 
more  buoyant  than  they  had  been  for  a  long 
time.  Though  conscious  of  this,  and  of  the 
sense  of  pleasure  that  was  new  to  him,  his 
thought  did  not  go  directly  to  the  cause. 
Not  that  he  had  forgotten  Frank  and  his  sick 
mother ;  or  the  glad  face  that  looked  into  his 


CATCHING    A    SUNBEAM.  165 

when  he  told  the  boy  of  his  generous  decision 
in  his  favor ;  all  this  was  present  to  him, 
though  he  had  not  yet  connected  the  kind  act 
and  the  pleasant  feelings  in  his  consciousness 
as  cause  and  effect. 

There  were  no  sounds  of  pattering  feet  on 
the  stairs  as  Mr.  Hickman  came  in.  Time 
was  when  his  first  step  in  the  passage  awoke 
the  echoes  with  laughing  voices  and  the  rain 
of  eager  footfalls.  But,  that  time  had  passed 
long  ago.  The  father  came  home  so  often  in 
a  cold,  repellent  mood,  that  his  children  had 
ceased  to  Ibe  glad  at  his  return,  and  no  longer 
bounded  to  meet  him.  Sitting  on  the  stairs 
were  a  little  "boy  and  girl,  of  the  ages  of  five 
and  six  years.  As  he  advanced  along  the 
passage,  they  neither  stirred,  nor  spoke,  nor 
smiled,  though  their  eyes  were  fixed  on  his 
face.  Mr.  Hickman  stood  still  when  he  came 
near  to  where  they  were  sitting,  and  looked 
at  them  with  a  new  feeling  of  tenderness  in 
his  heart.  He  held  out  a  hand  to  each,  and 
each  laid  a  hand  in  his,  but  with  an  air  of 
doubt  as  to  whether  this  condescension  on  the 


160  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

part  of  their  father  were  to  Ibe  accepted  as  a 
token  of  love.  A  moment  he  stood  holding 
their  hands,  then  stooping,  he  drew  an  arm 
around  each  and  lifted  them  to  his  breast. 

"Hasn't  Edie  a  kiss  for  papa?"  said  Mr. 
Hickman,  with  so  much  warmth  in  his  voice, 
that  the  little  girl  now  understood  that  all 
was  earnest. 

"Yes,  a  hundred  kisses!"  answered  Edie, 
flinging  her  arms  around  her  father's  neck, 
and  kissing  him  over  and  over  again  in  child- 
ish fondness. 

At  the  head  of  the  first  landing,  opened  the 
sitting-room.  Into  this  Mr.  Hickman  came 
with  the  two  children  in  his  arms ;  Iboth  of 
them  hugging  and  kissing  him  in  a  wild, 
happy  way: 

"Bless  me!  what's  the  meaning  of  all 
this?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hickman,  rising  and 
coming  forward,  her  face  a-glow  with  sudden 
pleasure  at  a  sight  and  sounds  so  new,  yet  all 
welcome  to  her  heart. 

"These  little  rogues  are  hugging  and  kiss- 
ing the  very  "breath  away  from  me,"  said  Mr. 


CATCHING    A    SUNBEAM.  167 

Hickman,  laughing  and  struggling  with  the 
children. 

"He  asked  me  for  one  kiss,"  cried  Edie, 
"  and  I'm  going  to  give  him  a  hundred." 

Mr.  Hickman  sat  down  with  a  child  on  each 
knee,  and  Mrs.  Hickman  came  and  stood  "by 
him,  with  a  hand  resting  on  his  shoulder. 

"Oh,  you  must  kiss  him  too,"  said  Edie, 
looking  up  at  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Hickman  did  not  wait  for  a  second  in- 
vitation. 

The  old  pleasant  face  of  her  husband  was 
again  before  her,  and  her  heart  was  leaping 
with  the  old  loving  impulses.  She  bent 
down  and  laid  a  warm  kiss  on  his  lips,  which 
he  felt  as  a  sweet  glow  through  all  his  being. 

That  was  an  evening  long  to  be  remember- 
ed in  the  household  of  Mr.  Hickman.  He  had 
caught  a  sunbeam  and  brought  it  home  with 
him,  and  light  and  warmth  were  all  around 
them.  All  were  happy,  and  Mr.  Hickman 
the  happiest  of  them  all,  for  he  had  the  sweet 
consciousness  in  his  heart  of  having  made  an- 
other and  humbler  home  than  this  happy  also. 


168  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

VII. 

DIDFT  LIKE  HIS  WIFE. 

OUR  minister  is  a  favorite  in  the  congrega- 
tion; he's  so  approachable,  so  kind,  so  plea- 
sant and  sympathizing!  Everybody  likes 
him — the  young  and  the  old,  the  rich  and  the 
poor.  And  he's  such  an  eloquent  preacher! 
In  all  his  private  relations,  as  well  as  in  his 
public  ministries,  he  seems  about  as  near  per- 
fection as  can  be  hoped  for  on  this  earth. 
Now,  that  is  saying  a  great  deal  for  our 
minister. 

But  there  is  no  unmixed  good  in  this 
world.  We  are  not  permitted  to  enjoy  our 
minister  without  the  accompaniment  of  some 
unpleasant  drawback.  Mr.  Elmore  has  a 
wife,  and  a  minister's  wife,  it  is  well  known, 
is  not  usually  perfect  in  the  eyes  of  the  con- 
gregation. There  was  no  exception  to  the 
rule  in  our  case.  Mrs.  Elmore  was  no  favor- 


DIDN'T    LIKE    HIS    WIFE.  169 

ite.  What  the  real  troulble  was  I  did  not 
know  from  personal  observation.  But  no 
one  seemed  to  have  a  friendly  feeling  toward 
her.  When  I  say  no  one,  I  refer  to  the  ladies 
of  our  congregation.  When  Mr.  Elmore  was 
the  subject  of  conversation,  you  would  be 
almost  certain  to  hear  the  remark — "Ah,  if  it 
wasn't  for  his  wife." 

Or— "What  a  pity  Mrs.  Elmore  isn't  the 
right  kind  of  a  woman !" 

Or — "  Isn't  it  a  shame  that  he  has  a  wife  so 
poorly  fitted  for  her  position !" 

So  the  changes  rang.  Mr.  Elmore  had 
been  our  minister  for  over  a  year,  and  during 
that  time  very  little  had  been  seen  of  his  wife 
in  a  social  way.  The  ladies  of  the  congrega- 
tion had  called  upon  her,  and  she  had  re- 
ceived them  kindly  and  politely,  but  with  a 
certain  distance  in  her  manner  that  repelled 
rather  than  attracted.  In  every  case  she 
returned  these  calls,  but  when  repeated,  fail- 
ed in  that  prompt  reciprocation  which  her 
visitors  expected.  There  are,  in  all  congrega- 
tions, certain  active,  patronizing  ladies,  who 


170  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

like  to  manage  things,  to  Ibe  deferred  to,  and 
to  make  their  influence  felt  on  all  around 
them.  The  wife  of  our  previous  minister,  a 
weak  and  facile  woman,  had  teen  entirely  in 
their  hands,  and  was,  of  course,  a  great  favor- 
ite. But  Mrs.  Elmore  was  a  different  charac- 
ter altogether.  You  saw  "by  the  poise  of  her 
head — by  the  steadiness  of  her  clear,  dark 
"blue  eyes — and  Iby  the  firmness  of  her  deli- 
cate mouth,  that  she  was  a  woman  of  inde- 
pendent thought,  purpose,  and  self-reliance. 
Polite  and  kind  in  her  intercourse  with  the 
congregation,  there  was,  withal,  a  coldness  of 
manner  that  held  you  at  a  certain  distance,  as 
surely  as  if  a  barrier  had  been  interposed. 

It  was  a  serious  trouble  with  certain  ladies 
of  the  congregation,  this  peculiarity  in  the 
minister's  wife.  How  he  could  ever  have 
married  a  woman  of  her  temperament  was 
regarded  as  a  mystery.  He  so  genial — she  so 
cold ;  he  so  approachable  by  every  one — she 
so  constrained ;  he  all  alive  for  the  church — 
and  she  seemingly  indifferent  to  every  thing 
but  her  own  family.  If  she  had  been  the 


DIDN'T  LIKE  HIS  WIFE.         171 

lawyer's  wife,  or  the  doctor's  wife,  or  the 
wife  of  a  merchant,  she  might  have  "been  as 
distant  and  exclusive  as  she  pleased;  but 
for  the  minister's  wife !  O  dear!  it  was  ter- 
rible! 

I  had  heard  so  much  said  about  Mrs.  El- 
more,  that,  without  having  met  her  familiar- 
ly, or  knowing  any  thing  about  her  from  per- 
sonal observation,  I  took  for  granted  the 
general  impression  as  true. 

Last  week  one  of  my  lady  friends,  a  mem- 
ber of  Mr.  Elmore's  congregation,  called  in  to 
see  me.  I  asked  her  to  take  off  her  bonnet 
and  sit  for  the  afternoon.  But  she  said — 

"No  ;  I  have  called  for  you  to  go  with  me 
to  Mrs.  Elmore's." 

"I  have  not  been  in  the  habit  of  visiting 
her,"  was  my  answer. 

"No  matter,"  was  replied,  "  she's  our  min- 
ister's wife,  and  it's  your  privilege  to  call 
on  her." 

"It  might  not  be  agreeable,"  I  suggested; 
"  you  know  she  is  peculiar." 

"Not  agreeable  to  the  minister's  wife  to 


172  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

have  a  lady  of  the  congregation  call  on  her !" 
and  my  friend  put  on  an  air  of  surprise. 

"  She's  only  a  woman,  after  all,"  I  remark- 
ed, "and  may  have  her  likes  and  dislikes, 
her  peculiarities  and  preferences,  as  well  as 
other  people.  And  I'm  sure  that  I  have  no 
desire  to  intrude  upon  her." 

"Intrusion!  How  you  talk!  An  intru- 
sion to  call  on  our  minister's  wife !  Well, 
that  sounds  beautiful,  don't  it?  I  wouldn't 
say  that  again.  Come,  put  on  your  Ibonnet.  I 
want  your  company  and  am  going  to  have  it." 

I  made  no  further  objection,  and  went  with 
my  lady  friend  to  'call  on  Mrs.  Elmore.  We 
sent  up  our  names,  and  were  shown  into  her 
neat  little  parlor,  where  we  sat  nearly  five 
minutes  before  she  came  down. 

"She  takes  her  own  time,"  remarked  my 
companion. 

If  the  tone  of  voice  in  which  this  was  said 
had  been  translated  into  a  sentence  it  woulcl 
have  read  thus — 

"  She's  mighty  independent  for  a  minister's 
wife." 


DIBIT  T    LIKE    HIS    WIFE.  173 

I  did  not  like  the  manner,  nor  the  remark 
of  my  friend,  and  so  kept  silent.  Soon,  there 
was  a  light  step  on  the  stairs,  the  rustle  of 
garments  near  the  door,  and  then  Mrs.  El- 
more  entered  the  room  where  we  were  sitting. 
She  received  us  kindly,  "but  not  with  wordy 
expressions  of  pleasure.  There  was  a  mild, 
soft  light  in  her  eyes,  and  a  pleasant  smile  on 
her  delicately  arching  lips.  We  entered  into 
conversation,  which  was  a  little  constrained 
on  her  part;  but  whether  this  was  from 
coldness  or  diffidence  I  could  not  decide. 
I  think  she  did  not,  from  some  cause,  feel 
entirely  at  her  ease.  A  remark  in  the  con- 
versation gave  my  companion  the  opportu- 
nity of  saying  what  I  think  she  had  come  to 
say. 

"That  leads  me  to  suggest,  Mrs.  Elmore, 
that,  as  our  minister's  wife,  you  hold  your- 
self rather  too  far  at  a  distance.  You  will 
pardon  me  for  saying  this,  Ibut  as  it  is  right 
that  you  should  know  how  we  feel  on  this 
subject,  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  being 
frank  with  you.  Of  course,  I  mean  no  of- 


174  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

fence,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  not  be  hurt  at 
an  intimation  given  in  all  kindness." 

I  looked  for  a  flash  from  Mrs.  Elmore's 
clear  bright  eyes,  for  red  spots  on  her  cheeks, 
for  "a  quick  curving  of  her  flexible  lips — 
but  none  of  these  signs  of  feeling  were  ap- 
parent. Calmly  she  looked  into  the  face  of 
her  monitor,  and  when  the  above  sentence 
was  completed,  answered  in  a  quiet  tone  of 
voice — 

"I  thank  you  for  having  spoken  so  plain- 
ly. Of  course,  I  am  not  offended.  But  I 
regret  to  learn  that  any  one  has  found  cause 
of  complaint  against  me.  I  have  not  meant 
to  be  cold  or  distant,  but  my  home-duties  are 
many  and  various,  and  take  most  of  my  time 
and  thoughts." 

"But,  my  dear  madam,"  was  answered  to 
this,  with  some  warmth,  "you  forget  that  for 
a  woman  in  your  position  there  are  duties  be- 
yond the  home  circle  which  may  not  be 
omitted." 

"In  my  position  ?"  Mrs.  Elmore's  calm  eyes 
rested  in  the  face  of  my  companion  with  a 


DIDN'T  LIKE  HIS  WIFE.          175 

look  of  inquiry.  "I  am  not  sure  that  I  un- 
derstand you." 

"  You  are  the  wife  of  our  minister." 

"I  am  aware  of  that."  I  thought  I  saw  a 
twinkle  in  Mrs.  Elmore's  eyes. 

"Well,  ma'am,  doesn't  that  involve  some 
duties  "beyond  the  narrow  circle  of  home  ?" 

"No  more  than  the  fact  of  your  being  a 
merchant's  wife  involves  you  in  obligations 
that  reach  beyond  the  circle  of  your  home. 
My  husband  is  your  minister,  and,  as  such, 
you  have  claims  upon  Mm.  I  think  he  is 
doing  his  duty  earnestly  and  conscientiously. 
I  am  his  wife  and  the  mother  of  his  children, 
and,  as  such,  I  too  am  trying  to  do  my  duty 
earnestly  and  conscientiously.  There  are  im- 
mortal souls  committed  to  my  care,  and  I  am 
endeavoring  to  train  them  up  for  heaven." 

"I  think  you  misapprehend  your  relation 
to  the  church,"  was  replied  to  this,  but  not 
in  the  confident  manner  in  which  the  lady 
had  at  first  spoken. 

"I  have  no  relation  to  the  church  in  any. 
way  different  from  yours,  or  that  of  other 


176  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

ladies  in  the  congregation,"  said  Mrs.  El- 
more,  with  a  decision  of  tone  that  showed  her 
to  be  in  earnest. 

"But  you  forget,  madam,  that  you  are  the 
minister' s  wife." 

"Not  for  a  moment.  I  am  the  minister's 
wife,  but  not  the  minister.  He  is  a  servant 
of  the  congregation,  but  I  am  not !" 

I  glanced  toward  my  friend,  and  saw  that 
she  looked  bewildered  and  at  fault.  I  think 
some  new  ideas  were  coming  into  her  mind. 

"Then,  if  I  understand  you,"  she  said, 
"you  are  in  no  way  interested  in  the  spiritual 
welfare  of  your  husband's  congregation  ?" 

"On  the  contrary,"  replied  Mrs.  Elmore, 
"I  feel  deeply  interested.  And  I  also  feel 
interested  in  the  spiritual  welfare  of  other 
congregations.  But  I  am  only  a  wife  and 
mother,  and  my  chief  duties  are  at  home.  If, 
time  permitting,  I  can  help  in  any  good  work 
outside  of  my  home,  I  will  put  my  hand  to  it 
cheerfully.  But,  home  obligations  are  first 
with  me.  It  is  my  husband's  duty  to  minis- 
ter in  spiritual  things — not  mine.  He  engaged 


DIDN'T  LIKE  HIS  WIFE.         177 

to  preach  for  you,  to  administer  the  ordi- 
nances of  the  church,  and  to  do  faithfully  all 
things  required  Tby  his  office.  So  far  as  I 
know,  he  gives  satisfaction." 

"O,  dear — yes,  indeed,  Tie  gives  satisfac- 
tion 1"  was  replied  to  this.  "Nobody  has  a 
word  to  say  against  Jiim." 

A  smile  of  genuine  pleasure  lit  up  the  face 
of  Mrs.  Elmore.  She  sat  very  still  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then,  with  the  manner  of  one 
who  had  drawn  "back  her  thoughts  from 
something  agreeable,  she  said, 

"It  is  very  pleasant  for  me  to  hear  such 
testimony  in  regard  to  my  husband.  No  one 
knows  so  well  as  I  do  how  deeply  his  heart 
is  in  his  work." 

"And  if  you  would  only  hold  up  his 
hands,"  suggested  my  friend. 

"  Help  him  to  preach,  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Oh,  no— no!"  was  ejaculated.  "I  don't 
mean  that,,  of  course."  The  warm  blood 
mounted  to  the  very  forehead  of  my  lady 
monitor. 

Mrs.  Elmore  smiled  briefly,  and  as  the  light 
12 


178  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

faded  from    her    countenance,    said,   in   her 
grave,  impressive  way. 

"I  trust  we  are  beginning  to  understand 
each  other.  But  I  think  a  word  or  two  more 
is  required  to  make  my  position  clear.  In 
arranging  for  my  husband' s  services,  no  stip- 
ulation was  made  in  regard  to  mine.  If  the 
congregation  expected  services  from  me,  the 
fact  should  have  been  stated.  Then  I  would 
have  communicated  my  view  in  the  case,  and 
informed  the  congregation  that  I  had  neither 
time  nor  taste  for  public  duties.  If  this  had 
not  been  satisfactory,  the  proposition  to  my 
husband  could  have  been  withdrawn.  As  it 
is,  I  stand  unpledged  beyond  any  lady  in  the 
parish ;  and  what  is  more,  shall  remain  un- 
pledged. I  claim  no  privileges,  no  rights,  no 
superiority  ;  I  am  only  a  woman,  a  wife,  and 
a  mother — your  -sister  and  your  equal — and 
as  such  I  ask  your  sympathy,  your  kindness, 
and  your  fellowship.  If  there  are  ladies  in 
the  congregation  who  have  the  time,  the  in- 
clination, and  the  ability  to  engage  in  the 
more  public  uses  to  be  found  in  all  religious 


DIDN'T  LIKE  HIS  WIFE.          179 

societies,  let  them,  by  all  means,  take  the 
precedence.  They  will  have  their  reward  in 
just  the  degree  that  they  act  from  purified 
Christian  motives.  As  for  me,  my  chief  du- 
ties, as  I  have  said  before,  lie  at  home,  and, 
God  being  my  helper,  I  will  faithfully  do 
them." 

"Right,  Mrs.  Elmore,  right!"  said  I, 
speaking  for  the  first  time,  but  with  a 
warmth  that  showed  my  earnestness.  "You 
have  stated  the  case  exactly.  When  we  en- 
gaged your  husband's  services,  nothing  was 
stipulated,  as  you  have  said,  in  regard  to 
yours,  and  I  now  see  that  no  more  can  be 
justly  required  of  you  than  of  any  other  lady 
in  the  congregation.  I  give  you  my  hand  as 
an  equal  and  a  sister,  and  thank  you  for 
putting  my  mind  right  on  a  subject  that  has 
always  been  a  little  confused." 

"She  knows  how  to  take  her  own  part," 
said  my  companion,  as  we  walked  away  from 
the  house  of  our  minister.  Her  manner  was  a 
little  crest-fallen. 

"She  has  right  and  common  sense  on  her 


180  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

side,"  I  answered,  "and  if  we  had  a  few 
more  such  minister' s  wives  in  our  congrega- 
tions, they  would  teach  the  people  some  les- 
-  sons  needful  to  be  learned." 

I  was  very  favorably  impressed  with  Mrs. 
Elmbre  on  the  occasion  of  this  visit,  and  shall 
call  to  see  her  again  right  early.  To  think 
how  much  hard  talk  and  uncharitable  judg- 
ment there  has  been  in  regard  to  her ;  and  all 
because,  as  a  woman  of  good  sense  and  clear 
perceptions,  she  understood  her  duty  in  her 
own  way,  and,  as  she  understood  it,  perform- 
ed it  to  the  letter.  I  shall  take  good  care  to 
let  her  view  of  the  case  be  known.  She  will 
rise  at  once  in  the  estimation  of  all  whose 
good  opinion  is  worth  having.  We  are  done 
with  complaints  about  our  minister' s  wife,  I 
trust.  She  has  denned  her  position  so  clear- 
ly, that  none  but  the  most  stupid ,  or  self- 
willed  can  fail  to  see  where  she  stands. 


DISCIPLINE    OF    MISFOKTUNE.      181 

vm. 

THE  DISCIPLINE  OF  MISFORTUNE. 

ADELE  LEHMAN  had  reached  the  ripe  age  of 
eighteen,  and  Ibegan  to  feel  womanly  and  self- 
important.  And  why  not  self-important? 
Was  not  her  father,  Andrew  Lehman,  the 
richest  man '  in  Ashville  ?  Tired  of  school, 
she  had  persuaded  her  too  yielding  parents  to 
let  her  education  close  as  full  and  complete  ; 
and  now  she  had  nothing  to  do  Ibut  play  the 
lady,  and  wait  for  a  lover.  As  a  school-girl, 
Adele  had  "been  on  free  and  easy  terms  with 
most  of  her  companions ;  her  likes  and  dis- 
likes Ibeing  grounded  in  peculiarity  of  charac- 
ter, and  not  in  external  condition.  She  had, 
of  course,  her  closer  intimacies,  as  all  girls 
have,  and,  like  most  girls,  had  one  particular 
friend  who  shared  her  secret  thoughts.  This 
was  Flora  Lee,  the  daughter  of  Doctor  Lee, 
whose  pleasant  little  dwelling  stood  not  very 
far  away  from  Mr.  Lehman's  elegant  mansion. 


182  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

Flora  was  a  kind,  gentle,  disinterested  girl, 
with  qualities  that  always  attract.  She  was 
a  favorite  with  all  in  her  class,  but  most  inti- 
mate with  Adele  Lehman.  The  two  girls  left 
school  within  a  few  months  of  each  other — 
Adele  to  pass  the  time  in  comparative  idle- 
ness, and  Flora  to  join  her  mother  in  home 
duties,  and  lighten  the  burdens  under  which 
her  weak  shoulders  were  bending. 

It  was  now  that  Adele' s  thoughts  began  to 
take  a  new  range,  and  her  mind  to  be  filled 
with  ideas  of  her  own  importance.  The  asso- 
ciations of  the  past  were  for  the  past  time — 
mere  school-girl  intimacies  that  must  close. 
Her  sphere  in  life  was  different  from  that  of 
nearly  all  her  old  companions.  She  must 
take  one  place  in  society,  they  another. 
Adele  went  home  three  months  before  Flora' s 
term  closed.  During  that  interval,  Flora 
wrote  two  or  three  warm  letters  to  her  friend, 
but  received  only  one  answer  in  return,  and 
that  filling  just  two  pages  of  small  note- 
paper,  and  so  guardedly  worded  that  its  for- 
mal sentences  chilled  her  feelings  like  a 


a 

DISCIPLINE    OF    MISFOKTUNE.      183 

winter  wind.  But  she  had  no  suspicion  of 
the  true  cause  of  this  seeming  coldness.  Two 
days  after  her  return  home,  and  before  she 
had  tune  to  call  upon  Adele,  she  met  her  in 
the  street.  Adele  was  in  company  with  a 
richly-dressed  young  lady,  to  her  a  stranger. 
As  they  approached,  Flora  paused  to  speak, 
her  face  lit  up  with  smiles  ;  Ibut  Adele  passed 
quickly  as  if  she  had  not  seen  her. 

"  I  thought  that  girl  was  going  to  speak  to 
you,"  said  the  companion  of  Adele. 

"I  thought  so  myself,"  was  replied,  with 
a  toss  of  the  head  and  a  curl  of  the  lip, 
""but  I  didn't  choose  to  give  her  the  oppor- 
tunity." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"  Oh,  a  mere  school-girl  acquaintance,  that 
must,  of  necessity,  Ibe  dropped.  She's  one  of 
the  ordinary  kind,  but  while  we  formed  part 
of  the  same  household  circle,  she  had  to  be 
tolerated.  Now  things  are  changed,  I  have 
returned  to  my  sphere  in  life,  and  she  has  re 
turned  to  hers.  We  are  acquaintances  no 
longer.  I  am  sorry  to  hurt  her  feelings,  but 


184  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

it  can't  Ibe  helped.  She  should  have  known 
her  place  better." 

Poor  Flora !  She  was  hurt  severely  Tby 
this  cut  direct.  She  had  been  sincerely  at- 
tached to  Adele,  and  looked  forward  to  meet- 
ing her  with  lively  pleasure.  Of  their 
difference  in  worldly  condition  she  had  never 
thought.  She  loved  Adele  for  herself  alone. 
After  returning  home  and  thinking  over  the 
matter,  it  seemed  so  impossible  for  her  late 
friend  to  pass  her  unnoticed,  that  she  tried  to 
persuade  herself  that  Adele  had  not  really 
observed  her.  But  all  doubt  was  removed  a 
few  days  after,  when  she  met  her  again. 
This  time  Adele  was  alone.  The  meeting  was 
so  sudden  and  unexpected  that  there  was  no 
chance  to  appear  unconscious  of  the  proximi- 
ty of  Flora.  A  cold,  stiff  nod  was  the  only 
response  given  to  her  friend' s  warm  greeting. 
Wounded  pride  sent  the  hot  blood  to  Flora's 
cheeks,  and  wounded  affection  filled  her  eyes 
with  tears. 

And  so  the  friends  parted,  both  in  an  un- 
happy state  of  mind,  but  Adele  really  the  un- 


DISCIPLINE    OF    MISFORTUNE.       185 

happiest  of  the  two,  for  selfish  pride  was  not 
yet  strong  enough  to  crush  out  the  better  im- 
pulses of  her  nature.  Still,  what  she  had 
done  had  "been  from  a  deliberate  purpose,  and 
she  had  no  thought  of  receding.  Of  the  two 
young  ladies,  Flora  was  the  superior  in  almost 
every  thing.  She  had  a  finer  face  and  a  finer 
form  than  Adele.  She  had  also  a  Ibetter  mind 
and  a  Ibetter  education.  In  the  way  of  accom- 
plishments there  was  only  one  thing  in  which 
she  was  excelled  by  Adele.  The  latter  had  a 
fine  musical  taste,  which  had  been  largely  cul- 
tivated, while  Flora  had  scarcely  any  talent  in 
that  direction,  and,  after  taking  a  few  lessons, 
had  given  up  the  study  of  music  entirely. 
The  refined,  educated  circle  of  Ashville  was 
not  large  enough  to  be  very  exclusive,  and 
there  were  very  few  who  thought  of  passing 
by  the  intelligent  Dr.  Lee  and  his  wife. 
Within  a  year  after  Flora's  return  from 
school,  she  began  to  go  into  company  with 
her  father  and  mother,  and  soon  became  a  fa- 
vorite with  almost  every  one.  The  beauty 
and  refinement  of  her  face,  the  pleasant  frank- 


186  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

ness  of  her  manner,  the  good  feeling  and  in- 
telligence she  uniformly  displayed,  won  for 
her  a  place  in  the  hearts  of  nearly  all  who  met 
her.  As  just  said,  the  refined  and  educated 
circle  of  Ashville  was  nof  yery  large,  and  as 
Flora  Lee  was  not  excluded  therefrom,  Adele 
Lehman  often  met  her  on  a  plane  of  social 
equality.  But  after  the  cruel  repulse  which 
Flora  had  received,  and  the  estrangement 
which  followed,  there  was  no  desire  on  her 
part  to  renew  the  acquaintance  with  the  purse- 
proud  young  lady;  and  shame  united  with 
pride  to  keep  Adele  aloof  from  her.  And  so 
they  stood  apart  as  strangers. 

Dr.  Lee  was  a  man  skilled  in  his  profession, 
and  his  practice  steadily  increased  from  year 
to  year.  He  was  poor  when  he  came  to  Ash- 
ville, but  his  worldly  affairs  had  improved 
from  the  beginning.  As  money  came  in  be- 
yond his  needs,  he  made  careful  investments, 
and  these  turning  out  favorably  in  almost 
every  instance,  he  was  now  worth  quite  a 
handsome  little  property,  which  was  entirely 
unencumbered.  Though  not  called  a  rich 


DISCIPLINE    OF    MISFORTUNE.       187 

man,  there  were  few  in  Ashville  whose  affairs 
were  in  so  easy  and  comfortable  a  condition. 
But  neither  Dr.  Lee  nor  his  family  were  osten- 
tatious in  their  feelings,  and  so  continued  to 
occupy  the  modest  home  which  industry  and 
economy  had  first  secured  to  them. 

Mr.  Lehman  was  a  man  of  altogether  a  dif- 
ferent spirit.  He  was  ambitious  for  large 
accumulations.  Through  sharp  business  trans- 
actions, and  bold,  but  fortunate  speculations, 
he  had  acquired  great  wealth.  But  specula- 
tion is  only  another  name  for  gambling,  and 
one  day  the  cards  turned  adversely  for  Mr. 
Lehman,  and  he  lost  his  game.  The  stake 
had  been  a  large  one,  and  if  he  had  won  he 
would  have  doubled  his  fortune ;  but  "luck," 
as  they  say,  was  against  him.  He  was  rich  in 
the  morning,  but  poor  as  any  man  in  Ashville 
when  the  sun  went  down  at  night.  A  brave 
man-  was  Mr.  Lehman  when  the  day  was. 
broad  and  bright  around  him,  and  he  could 
see  his  vantage-ground  ;  but  he  was  a  weak, 
bewildered  coward  in  storm  and  darkness  ; 
and  now  the  shadows  of  an  Egyptian  night 


188  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

were  upon  him.  <  The  shock  prostrated  him 
to  the  earth.  Courage,  hope,  effort,  all  were 
gone.  He  tottered  about  like  a  man  who  felt 
the  ground  shaking  Tbeneath  him — weak, 
frightened,  and  nerveless. 

It  does  not  take  long  for  the  external  con- 
dition of  a  man  so  hopelessly  ruined  as  Mr. 
Lehman,  to  change.  In  a  few  months  after 
the  disaster  we  find  the  humiliated  family 
shrinking  together  in  a  small  house,  far  hum- 
bler in  appearance  than  the  one  occupied  by 
the  unostentatious  Dr.  Lee,  without  means 
and  without  income.  And  to  make  all  gadder 
and  more  hopeless,  a  stroke  of  paralysis  re- 
duced Mr.  Lehman  to  a  condition  of  helpless- 
ness. What  was  now  to  be  done  ?  With  all 
her  pride,  weakness,  and  vanity,  Adele  Leh- 
man had  loved  her  father  most  tenderly.  He 
had  been  a  fond  and  indulgent  parent,  too 
much  so  for  her  own  good.  But  indulgence 
had  tended  rather  to  strengthen,  than  to 
weaken  her  love.  In  the  first  step  down- 
ward she  was  overwhelmed  with  mortifica- 
tion. The  anguish  of  crushed  pride  seemed 


DISCIPLINE    OF    MISFORTUNE.       189 

more  than  she  could  Ibear;  and  she  shrank 
within  the  narrow  walls  that  enclosed  them 
in  their  new  home,  feeling  so  helpless  and  dis- 
graced that  she  wished  to  die.  But  the  added 
blow  which  made  her  father  a  feeble  invalid, 
startled  her  mind  with  a  new  thought.  Who 
were  they  to  lean  upon  now  that  he  was 
stricken  down?  What  hand  was  to  sustain 
them  ?  From  whence  was  to  come  their  sup- 
port ?  Her  mother  was  in  feelble  health,  and 
Jier  sisters  Ibut  little  children.  She  alone  had 
strength  and  skill,  and  love  sent  her  thought 
out  in  eager  questioning.  "What  can.  I  do  ?" 
Ah !  how  long  she  searched  for  an  answer ! 
But  it  came.  She  was  skilled  in  music,  and 
competent  to  teach.  But  oh !  with  what  an 
irrepressible  aversion  did  she  turn  from  the 
thought  of  becoming  a  music-teacher — the 
patient^*  toiling  instructor  of  those,  down  upon 
whom  she  had  looked,  only  a  few  months  ago, 
as  mean  and  inferior !  But  no  help  came  in 
their  need — no  way  opened  before  them. 

Few  friends  are  left  to  a  family  so  utterly 
ruined  as  that  of  Mr.  Lehman.     Many  who 


190 


HIDDEN    WINGS. 


pity  and  sympathize,  hesitate  about  visiting 
them  in  their  altered  circumstances,  lest  their 
presence  should  prove  disagreeable,  as  a  re- 
minder of  the  height  from  which  they  had 
fallen  ;  while  the  more  heartless  and  worldly, 
having  nothing  to  gain  by  association,  push 
them  out  from  the  circle  of  their  friends. 
And  now  it  is  that  some  humble  acquaint- 
ances of  their  better  days,  whose  familiarity 
was  rather  tolerated  than  desired,  draw  nearer 
to  them  with  that  true  interest,  which  asks, 
"  How  can  we  help  you  ?" 

It  happened  not  long  after  the  Lehman  s 
had  removed  to  their  new  home,  that  a  friend 
of  this  class  sat  in  earnest  talk  with  Adele 
and  her  mother.  The  pressure  of  impending 
want  had  made  them  communicative,  and  this 
friend  had  come  earnestly  into  their  councils. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  which  I  ctn  do," 
said  Adele,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears  when 
she  thought  of  the  great  trial  and  humiliation 
that  lay  before  her.  "I  understand  music, 
and  feel  competent  to  give  instruction." 

"A  good  teacher  is  wanted  in  Ashville," 


DISCIPLINE    OF    MISFOETTJNE.       191 

replied  the  friend,  "and  I  am  sure  that  after 
you  become  known  as  such,  there  will  Ibe  no 
lack  of  scholars.  The  difficulty  lies  in  get- 
ting a  start.  Your  former  social  position  will 
Ibe  just  so  much  against  you  in  the  beginning. 
For  many  in  the  circle  where  you  moved, 
and  many  in  the  one  below  it,  will  hesitate 
about  asking  your  services ;  some  from  deli- 
cacy, some  from  prejudice,  and  some  from 
the  belief  that,  while  you  may  be  a  good  per- 
former, you  can  have  no  skill  as  a  teacher. 
Much  will  depend  on  a  right  commencement. 
Let  me  see.  Ah !  I  think  I  have  it.  It  was 
only  last  week  that  I  was  talking  to  Mrs.  Lee 
about  a  music-teacher.  She  said,  their  eldest 
daughter,  Flora,  had  no  musical  taste  what- 
ever, but  that  her  two  younger  sisters  show- 
ed decided  talent,  and  that  they  had  been 
talking  for  some  time  about  placing  them  in 
the  hands  of  a  teacher.  Now  you  couldn't 
have  a  better  beginning.  If  you  can  give 
satisfaction  there,  all  the  rest  will  be  plain. 
Dr.  Lee  has  a  large  practice  in  our  best  fami- 
lies. Both  he  and  his  wife  are  much  esteem- 


t 

192  HIDDEN     WINGS. 

ed.  With  their  influence,  you  will  have  as 
many  pupils  as  you  want.  Go  and  see  Mrs. 
Lee  at  once ;  she  is  a  true,  motherly  woman, 
and  will  Ibe  interested  in  your  case.  Her 
daughter  Flora  is  a  charming  girl;  and  if 
you  have  never  made  her  acquaintance,  you 
will  now  have  the  opportunity,  I  think,  of  se- 
curing a  friend  that  is  worthy  of  the  name." 

Poor  Adele !  Had  it  come  to  this  ?  Was 
there  no  other  way  for  her  "but  through  this 
valley  of  humiliation?  The  friend  went 
home,  and  the  unhappy  girl  retired  to  her 
chamber  to  think  over  the  suggestion  alone. 
How  vividly  did  the  past  come  up  before 
her !  She  was  back  in  her  school-girl  days  ; 
in  that  pleasant  time  when  she  called  Flora 
Lee  her  best  and  dearest  friend.  Then  she 
remembered  the  cold  heartlessness  with  which 
she  had  turned  from  this  friend ;  not  because 
Flora  was  less  worthy,  but  because  false 
pride  had  come  between  them.  And  could 
she  go  to  her  now,  in  her  great  extremity? 
In  her  wild  struggle  with  pride  she  felt  that 
death  would  be  easier  than  this. 


DISCIPLINE    OF    MISFOKTUNE.       193 

But  the  wolf  was  at  their  door,  and  there 
was  no  help  but  in  her.  For  three  days  a 
"bitter  strife  went  on  in  her  mind,  and  then, 
sad,  humbled,  and  fearful  of  the  result,  she 
turned  her  hesitating  steps  toward  the  dwell- 
ing of  Dr.  Lee.  Was  it  possible  for  Mrs.  Lee 
to  forgive  the  indignity  she  had  placed  upon 
her  daughter?  How  could  she  meet  Flora 
and  look  her  in  the  face,  with  the  memory  of 
that  past  time  as  vividly  in  her  thoughts  as  if 
it  had  occurred  but  yesterday  ?  How  she  de- 
spised herself  for  that  mean  pride  which  had 
prompted  to  so  unworthy  an  action  !  This  was 
her  state  of  mind  when  she  arrived  at  Dr. 
Lee's  house  and  timidly  rang  the  bell.  A 
few  moments  she  stood  with  fluttering  heart, 
when  the  door  opened,  and  she  looked  into 
the  face  of  Flora  Lee.  Her  own  face  was 
pale,  her  lips  quivered ;  she  tried  to  speak, 
but  found  no  utterance. 

"Adele  Lehman!"  exclaimed  Flora,  in  a 
voice  of  surprise,  at  the  same  time  offering 
her  hand.  There  was  neither  resentment  nor 
coldness  in  her  manner,  but  a  tone  of  warmth 

13 


194  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

and  sympathy  that  touched  the  heart  of 
Adele,  and  made  her  eyes  brimming  with 
tears. 

"Is  your  mother  at  home?"  inquired  Adele, 
in  a  faltering  voice. 

"  She  is.     Do  you  wish  to  see  her?" 

"If  you  please." 

There  was  something  in  the  subdued,  hum- 
ble manner  of  Adele,  that  touched  the  heart 
of.  Flora.  She  knew  of  the  misfortune  that 
had  overwhelmed  her  family  ;  of  the  prostra- 
ting, almost  hopeless  illness  of  her  father ; 
and  had  heard  with  pain,  that  they  were  re- 
duced in  circumstances,  almost  to  the  verge 
of  want.  The  sight  of  Adele' s  pale,  suffering 
face,  revived  the  old-time  affection  in  her 
heart,  and  she  drew  an  arm  around  her  waist 
and  led  her  in  to  her  mother.  Mrs.  Lee  re- 
ceived her  with  great  kindness,  and  as  soon 
as  Adele  was  composed  enough  to  speak, 
listened  with  much  interest  to  the  brief  story 
she  told  of  their  necessities,  and  the  duty 
which  devolved  upon  her.  Flora  entered 
warmly  into  her  feelings ;  spoke  encoura- 


DISCIPLINE    OF    MISFORTUNE.       195 

gingly ;  praised  her  skill  in  music,  and  pre- 
dicted certain  success. 

"You  can  depend  on  two  scholars  here," 
said  Mrs.  Lee,  without  hesitation,  "and  I 
think  that  I  can  promise  you  half  a  dozen 
more  in  a  week.  If  not,  the  fault  will  not  lie 
at  my  door.  You  are  a  brave,  good  girl, 
Adele ;  you  deserve  success,  and  it  will 
come." 

A  reception  like  this  had  not  Ibeen  dreamed 
of  by  the  poor  girl.  Her  own  mind  had  been 
so  warped  by  foolish  pride  and  false  ideas, 
that  she  could  not  imagine  any  thing  so  for- 
giving, so  generous,  and  so  disinterested. 

"Shall  we  not  be  friends  again?"  said 
Flora,  as  she  moved  with  Adele  toward  the 
door,  when  the  visit  was  ended. 

"  Friends  ?"  Adele  looked  at  Flora  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  Yes ;  we  were  friends  once,  why  shall  we 
not  be  so  again?" 

"I  am  not  worthy  to  be  called  by  the 
name,"  said  Adele,  completely  broken  down. 

"More  worthy  than  ever,"  replied  Flora; 


196  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

"an  enemy  came  '"between  us,  but  his  power 
is  gone." 

As  Adele  Lehman  turned  her  feet  away 
from  the  dwelling  of  Dr.  Lee,  there  was  the 
beginning  of  a  new  life  in  her  soul.  She  had 
gone  trembling  and  fearful ;  scarcely  hoping 
for  any  thing  but  repulse,  or  if  not  repulse, 
coldness,  reserve,  and  scarcely-hidden  con- 
tempt. There  were  lions  in  her  way,  and 
only  the  courage  of  despair  had  given  her 
strength  to  face  the  evil  that  loomed  up  be- 
fore her.  But,  like  Christian's  lions  at  the 
Beautiful  gate,  they  were  chained,  and  she 
passed  them  harmless. 

This  visit  to  Mrs.  Lee  and  Flora,  was  like  a 
new  revelation  to  Adele  Lehman,  passing,  for 
a  time,  her  comprehension  But  as  she  be- 
came an  earnest  worker,  going  through  her 
daily  duties  under  the  impulse  of  filial  and 
fraternal  love,  her  sight  grew  clearer,  and  she 
comprehended  the  wide  difference  between 
selfish  pride  and  genuine  goodness  of  heart. 

Mrs.  Lee  was  no  mere  lip-friend.  She 
meant  all  that  she  said,  and  was  as  good  as 


DISCIPLINE    OF    MISFOKTUNE.       107 

her  word.  Through  her  influence,  a  number 
of  scholars  were  immediately  obtained,  and 
Adele  commenced  her  new  life  a  hopeful, 
patient  toiler,  sustained  in  her  work  Iby  the 
love  she  "bore  the  helpless  ones  at  home. 
And  her  weak  arm  sustained  them.  Bravely 
she  battled  with  the  wolf,  and  kept  the  hun- 
gry destroyer  from  their  door.  And  was  she 
not  better  for  this  great  worldly  misfortune ; 
for  this  deep  humiliation  through  which  she 
had  to  pass ;  this  bowing  of  pride  to  the  very 
dust  ?  Yes,  it  was  painful,  but  salutary ;  and 
there  came  a  time,  in  her  after-life,  when  she 
lifted  her  heart  upward,  and  thanked  God  for 
humiliation  and  misfortune,  for  they  had 
made  her  what  she  otherwise  would  not  have 
been,  a  true  woman. 


198  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

IX. 

WORK  AM)  WORRY- 

I  HAVE  two  neighbors  who  interest  me  con- 
siderably. One  is  a  poor  woman  with  four 
children,  and  wholly  dependent  on  her  labor 
for  food  and  clothing.  The  other  is  the  wife 
of  a  citizen,  comfortably  well  off,  and  has  two 
servants  to  do  the  work  of  her  household.  It 
is  about  two  years  since  I  first  commenced 
observing  them,  and  both  have  failed  con- 
siderably in  that  time.  If  the  work  of  ex- 
haustion continues  as  rapidly  as  it  has  been 
going  on  for  the  last  twelve  months,  it  will 
only  take  a  year  or  two  more  to  complete 
their  life-histories.  My  poor  neighbor  I 
think  will  hold  out  longest,  as  the  disease 
from  which  she  is  suffering  does  not  break 
down  the  constitution  so  quickly  as  the  one 
that  has  robbed  my  other  neighbor's  cheeks 
of  their  bloom,  and  her  step  of  its  lightness. 


WOKK    AND     WOEET.  199 

Yesterday  I  called  in  to  see  Mrs.  M . 

I  found  her  standing  over  a  washing-tub, 
with  a  pale,  weary  face.  It  was  three  o'  clock 
in  the  afternoon,  and,  from  the  quantity  and 
condition  of  her  work,  it  was  plain  that  she 
had  yet  two  hours  of  exhausting  labor  before 
her. 

"Always  hard  at  work,  Mrs.  M ," 

said  I. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  faint  smile. 
"I  and  Work  are  old  friends." 

"  Work,"  I  remarked,  "is  a  friend  that  sticks 
to  some  people  closer  even  than  a  brother." 

"You  may  well  say  that,"  was  her  reply 
to  this,  with  an  amused  expression  on  her 
thin  face.  " I  am  Work's  favorite  sister." 

I  smiled  in  return,  and  said : 

"You  manage  to  keep  cheerful  with  it  all, 
Mrs.  M ." 

"Not  always  cheerful,  and  never  very  sad. 
I  sing  at  my  work  sometimes,  and  that  makes 
it  lighter." 

I  glanced  around  the  room.  To  my  eyes 
every  thing  wore  a  cheerless  aspect.  Two 


200  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

neglected  children  were  playing  on  the  floor. 
Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  say  neglected,  for 
their  faces  were  clean,  and  their  clothes  not 
in  a  very  "bad  condition.  Yet  it  was  plain  to 
see  that  the  mother' s  hands  were  too  full  of 
work  to  care  for  them  properly. 

"Singing,"  said  I,  "is  better  than  sighing. 
I  am  glad  you  have  heart  enough  to  sing  at 
your  work." 

"Why  shouldn't  I?  Everybody  has  to 
work ;  some  harder  than  others,  it  is  true ; 
but  it  all  goes  in  the  lifetime.  I  am  too 
thankful  to  get  work,  to  sit  down  and  cry 
over  it." 

"  And  so  you  sing  to  make  it  lighter  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  in  a  quiet  way. 

"Your  health  is  not  very  good  ?"  said  I. 

"Not  so  good  as  it  was  a  year  ago.  I  tire 
more  quickly,  and  suffer  oftener  with  bad 
headaches.  Of  late,  I  have  been  a  good  deal 
troubled  with  a  pain  in  my  side.  But  I  try 
not  to  think  of  it.  Thinking  about  pains  and 
troubles,  you  know,  always  makes  them 
worse." 


WOEK    AND    WOEEY.  201 

"I  know  some  people,"  said  I,  "who 
would  "be  happier  than  they  are,  if  they  had 
a  few  grains  of  your  philosophy." 

"Our  minister  says  that  we  make,  for  the 
most  part,  our  world  of  happiness  or  misery. 
And  I  believe  him.  Why,  if  I  gave  way  to 
gloomy  thoughts,  I  could  make  myself  wretch- 
ed all  the  day  long.  But  what  would  be  the 
use  of  that?  It  wouldn't  lighten  my  work 
any,  but  make  it  heavier ;  and,  dear  above 
knows,  it  is  heavy  enough  now!  Some  one 
has  said,  that  worry  kills  quicker  than  work. 
It  is  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  keep  up  under 
the  burden  of  work;  add  worry,  and  I 
would  break  down  in  a  week.  I  don't 
trouble  myself  a  great  deal  about  what  I 
can't  help,  and  try  to  act  on  the  precept  of 
the  good  Book  which  says,  '  Take  no  thought 
for  the  morrow.'  The  truth  is,  it's  as  much 
as  I  can  do  to  take  thought  for  each  day  as  it 
comes  along.  We  only  have  a  day  at  a  time, 
you  know ;  and  it's  my  belief,  that  if  we  im- 
prove our  to-days  rightly,  Gfod  will  take  care 
of  our  to-morrows. ' '' 


202  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

Mrs.  M "bent  down  over  her  washing- 
tub,  and  resumed  her  work,  adding,  as  she 
didso- 

"  But  we  must  improve  our  nows  as  well 
as  our  to-days.  I've  got  full  two  hours'  work 
ahead  of  me,  and  mustn't  stand  idling." 

I  sat  a  while  longer,  talking  with  Mrs. 

M ,  and  then  retired,  saying  to  myself, 

"Poor  woman!  Your  work  is  too  hard  for 
you.  It  is  wasting  your  life  away.  Your 
slender  frame  was  never  made  for  toil  like 
this." 

Passing  from  the  door  of  my  humble  neigh- 
bor, I  crossed  the  street,  and  rang  at  a  house 
of  more  imposing  aspect  than  hers.  A  ser- 
vant showed  me  into  a  handsomely  furnished 
parlor,  where  I  waited  several  minutes  for 
the  lady  on  whom  I  had  called. 

"Are  you  sick,  Mrs.  B ?"  said  I,  as  I 

took  her  hand,  and  looked  with  concern  into 
my  neighbor' s  pale,  troubled  face. 

"Not  sick,"  she  answered,  "but  worried 
half  out  of  my  life.  Sit  down,  I  am  glad  to 
see  you." 


WORK    AND    WOBEY.  203 

"What  lias  happened  to  worry  you?"  I 
inquired  ;  ' '  any  tiling  more  than  usual  ?' ' 

"There's  always  something  more  than 
usual  happening  in  this  house,"  she  replied, 
in  a  fretful  way  ;  "  it  seems  to  me  that  noth- 
ing goes  right.  Just  come  up-stairs,  and  I'll 
show  you  something." 

She  arose  and  I  followed  her,  ascending  to 
the  chamlber  on  the  next  floor.  It  had  "been 
newly  papered,  I  saw  at  a  glance. 

"Now  just  look  at  that  Iborder!"  she 
said,  pointing  upward.  "Isn't  it  horrid?  It 
spoils  the  whole  effect  of  the  room.  The 
piece  I  chose  was  lovely.  What  possessed 
the  man  to  substitute  this,  is  more  than  I  can 
tell.  He  came  while  I  was  out,  and  the  room 
was  finished  when  I  returned." 

I  looked  at  the  border,  "but  made  no  re- 
mark. 

"Did  you  ever  see  any  thing  so  outland- 
ish?" said  Mrs.  B ,  with  an  expression  of 

disgust  on  her  face. 

I  suppose  it  must  "be  set  down  to  my  want 
of  taste  in  things  ornamental,  but  I  could  not 


204  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

see  in  what  the  "border  was  out  of  keeping 
with  the  style  of  paper.  To  me  it  was  very 
neat  and  appropriate. 

"I  can  never  endure  it!"  ejaculated  Mrs. 

B ,  in  a  disturbed  manner.  "Never! 

The  man  must  take  it  off.  It  will  be  a  con- 
stant eyesore.  And  just  look  how  poorly  he 
has  matched  the  pattern  under  that  window." 

I  looked  to  the  place  indicated,  but  my 
eyes  failed  to  see  the  defect.  On  going 
nearer,  however,  I  noticed  a  very  slight 
deviation  from  the  right  line  of  contact 
between  two  parts  of  a  grape-leaf.  My  won- 
der was,  how  Mrs.  B had  managed  to 

discover  the  fact.  I  am  sure  it  would  not 
have  been  revealed  to  one  pair  of  eyes  in  a 
hundred. 

"There's  no  trusting  anybody  to  do  things 

right,"  continued  Mrs.  B ,  in  a  nervous, 

complaining  way.  "  As  if  I  hadn't  enough  to 
worry  me  already,  this  must  be  added!  It 
has  set  my  head  to  aching  as  if  it  would 
burst." 

"How  is  little  Freddy?"  I  asked,  wishing 


WOEK    AND    WORRY.  205 

to  turn  her  thoughts  to  something  more  pleas- 
ant. 

"I  am  dreadfully  worried  albout  him,"  she 
replied — the  troubled  aspect  of  her  face  ta- 
king on  a  new  and  more  painful  character. 

"Is  he  sick?" 

"No,  he's  not  just  sick  ;  Ibut  I  expect  he 
will  be.  Only  to  think  of  it!  I  sent  the 
nurse  out  with  him  yesterday  to  get  the  fresh 
air.  She  was  gone  a  long  time  ;  so  long,  that 
I  got  very  uneasy.  I  questioned  her  closely, 
when  she  came  Iback;  and,  would  you  be- 
lieve it  ? — the  creature  owned  to  having  been 
to  see  one  of  her  Irish  friends  somewhere  in 
the  lower  part  of  the  town !  Of  course,  it  was 
in  some  low,  dirty  hovel,  and  among  filthy, 
diseased  children.  Who  knows  but  my  dear 
little  Freddy  has  been  exposed  to  the  infec- 
tion of  small-pox  or  scarlet  fever  ?  Why,  I 
hardly  slept  an  hour  at  a  time  all  night,  think- 
ing about  it.  He  looked  heavy  and  drooping 
this  morning,  and  I  sent  for  the  doctor." 
"  What  did  he  say  ?"  I  asked. 
"Oh!"  she  replied,  "doctors  never  give 


206  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

you  any  satisfaction.  He  made  light  of  the 
matter,  of  conrse.  But  I  understand  the 
meaning  of  that.  He  didn't  wish  to  alarm  me. 
I  shan't  have  a  moment's  peace  of  mind  for  a 
week  to  come." 

I  suggested  that  it  was  only  conjecture  as  to 
the  child's  having  been  exposed  to  disease; 
and  that  she  might  Ibe  fretting  herself  to  no 
purpose.  This,  instead  of  allaying,  seemed 
to  increase  her  disturbance  of  mind.  So  I 
tried  a  new  subject ;  seizing  upon  the  first 
one  that  presented  itself.  I  knew  that  she 
had  obtained,  a  few  weeks  before,  a  first-rate 
cook. 

"  Lucy  still  gives  satisfaction  2" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "but  I  don't  expect 
her  to  stay." 

"Why  not «" 

"Oh!  girls  that  are  worth  having  never 
stay  long.  She' s  the  best  cook  I  ever  had ; 
but  I  expect,  every  day,  to  receive  notice  that 
she  is  going  to  leave  us." 

I  smiled,  in  spite  of  the  solemn  face  that 
looked  into  mine. 


WORK    Al^D    WORRY.  207 

"lam  afraid  you  take  trouble  on  interest, 

Mrs.  B .  '  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the 

evil  thereof.'  Enjoy  your  good  cook  while 
you  have  her.  It  will  be  time  enough  to  be 
uncomfortable  when  she  leaves ;  and  that 
may  not  be  in  the  next  five  years." 

"It's  easy  enough  to  talk,"  replied  Mrs. 

B ,  a  little  impatiently;  "but  if  you'd 

passed  through  what  I  have — " 

She  stopped  suddenly,  bent  her  head  toward 
the  door,  and  listened. 

"That's  Freddy  now!" 

I  heard  the  child' s  waking  cry. 

"  Come  with  me  to  the  nursery,"  said  Mrs. 

B ,  moving  toward  the  door.  I  followed. 

The  child  had  just  wakened  from  a  long  nap, 
and  was  fretting  as  we  often  see  children 
when  aroused  from  sleep. 

*  *  Just  look  how  red  his  face  is  1"  exclaimed 

Mrs.  B ;  "are  you  sick,  darling?"  and 

she  gathered  him  up  in  her  arms.  "  Just  feel 
his  hand ;  it  is  burning  with  fever." 

I  took  the  soft  little  hand  in  mine,  and  held 
it  for  a  few  moments,  to  mark  the  degree  of 


208  H-IDDEN     WINGS. 

heat.  To  me,  there  was  nothing  "beyond  the 
warmth  of  vigorous  health. 

"There's  no  fever  here,  Mrs.  B ,"  said 

I,  confidently. 

' '  Yes,  there  is, ' '  she  replied.  "  He' s  got  a 
high  fever.  Is  your  throat  sore,  darling  ?" 

Freddy  put  his  hand  to  his  neck  and  swal- 
lowed once  or  twice. 

"Does  it  hurt,  love?" 

The  child  nodded  his  head  in  assent. 

The  face  of  Mrs.  B grew  suddenly  pale 

as  ashes. 

"  There,  I  knew  it !  I  knew  it !  He's  get- 
ting the  scarlet  fever.  Oh,  dear  !"  and  she 
laid  her  face  down  among  her  child's  sunny 
curls,  and  sobbed  wildly. 

"  Pray,  don't  distress  youself,  Mrs.  B , 

Freddy  is  not  sick,"  I  urged.  But  my  words 
had  no  effect  upon  her.  She  sobbed  on  for 
some  minutes,  until  agitation  exhausted  it- 
self. 

"Will  you  ring  the  bell?"  she  asked,  at 
length,  looking  at  me  with  a  sad,  tearful 
face. 


WORK    AND    WORRY.  209 

I  pulled  the  bell-rope,  and  the  nurse  came 
in  almost  immediately. 

"You  must  go  for  the  doctor,"  said  Mrs. 

B -.  "Freddy  is  sick.  He's  getting  the 

scarlet  fever." 

The  girl  looked  frightened,  and  went  hur- 
riedly from  the  room. 

"  Don't  "be  alarmed,  my  dear  Mrs.  B ," 

said  I,  trying  to  reassure  her  ;  "  I  am  certain 
Freddy  is  not  sick.  Why,  his  hand  is  no 
hotter  than  mine.  As  I  took  his  hand  again, 
my  own  came  in  contact  with  hers.  It  was 
cold  as  marble.  No  wonder  the  babe's  soft, 
warm  flesh  was  burning  to  her  touch. 

"Feel  my  hand,"  I  said,  "mine  and  Fred- 
dy's together,  and  see  which  is  hottest." 

"You  have  fever,"  she  replied. 

"No,"  said  I,  "your  hand  is  icy  cold;  it 
has  deceived  you.  Freddy  has  no  fever." 

By  the  time  the  doctor  arrived,  Freddy  was 
playing  about  the  floor  as  lively  as  a  cricket, 
and  I  had  succeeded  in  convincing  Mrs. 

B that  he  was  in  no  imminent  danger. 

But  the  mother  was  in  most  need  of  medical 
14 


210  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

attention.  Her  nervous  fears  had  so  exhausted 
her,  that  she  was  unable  to  hold  her  head  up. 
She  was  lying  on  the  sofa  when  the  doctor 
came,  her  face  of  a  deathly  hue.  He  scolded 
her  soundly,  saying  that  she  would  kill  her- 
self if  she  went  on  in  this  way  ;  made  a  pre- 
scription for  her,  without  noticing,  except 
casually,  the  child,  and  went  off.  As  my 
presence  could  hardly  Tbe  agreeable  to  either 
party,  I  retired  also,  pondering  the  case  in  my 
philosophical  way. 

"  Worry  is  worse  than  work,"  said  L 

"  without  any  doubt.  If  Mrs.  B keeps  on 

after  this  fashion,  she'll  shuffle  off  her  mortal 
coil  in  less  time  than  poor  Mrs.  M ." 

On  the  next  morning,  I  saw  Mrs.  M , 

bright  and  early,  on  her  way  to  a  neighbor's 
house,  where  the  day  was  to  be  spent  at  the 
ironing-table  ;  her  children  remaining  at  home 
in  the  care  of  their  oldest  sister — herself  but  a 
child. 

"How's  Mrs.  B ?"  I  asked  of  the 

nurse,  whom  I  saw  standing  at  her  door, 
about  ten  o'clock,  with  Freddy  in  her  arms. 


WORK    AND    WOKRY.  211 

The  child  looked  the  very  picture  of 
health. 

"Sick  in  Ibed,  ma'am,"  she  replied. 

"  Indeed,  what  ails  her?"  I  asked. 

"Oh!  she  worried  herself  sick  yesterday, 
ma'am,  about  Freddy.  And  it  wasn't  a  bit  of 
use.  Nothing  at  all  was  the  matter  with  him, 
dear  little  fellow !" 

I  passed  on,  saying  to  myself — "Yes,  Mrs. 

M was  right ;  worry  kills  quicker  than 

work.  If  Mrs.  B keeps  on  as  fast  as  she 

is  now  going,  she'll  get  to  the  end  of  her 
journey  long  before  her  hard-toiling  neigh- 
bor." 


212  HIDDEN    WINGS. 


X. 

TELL  YOUR  WIFE. 

"TELL  my  wife  !"  said  Aaron  Little,  speak- 
ing aloud,  yet  to  himself,  in  a  half  amused, 
half  troubled  way.  "  Tell  my  wife,  indeed ! 
Much  good  that  will  do !  What  does  she 
know  about  "business,  and  money-matters, 
and  the  tricks  of  trade  ?  No,  no  ;  there's  no 
hope  there." 

And  Aaron  Little  sat  musing,  with  a  per- 
plexed countenance.  He  held  a  newspaper 
in  his  hand,  and  his  eyes  had  just  been  linger- 
ing over  a  paragraph,  in  which  the  writer 
suggested  to  business  men  in  trouble,  the  pro- 
priety of  consulting  their  wives : 

"Talk  to  them  freely  about  your  affairs," 
it  said.  "  Let  them  understand  exactly  your 
condition.  Tell  them  of  your  difficulties,  of 
your  embarrassments,  and  of  your  plans  for 
extricating  yourselves  from  the  entanglements 


TELL    YOUE    WIPE.  213 

in  which  you  are  involved.  My  word  for  it, 
you  will  get  help  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten. 
Women  have  quick  perceptions.  They  reach 
conclusions  by  a  nearer  way  than  reasoning, 
and  get  at  the  solution  of  a  difficult  question, 
long  before  your  slow  moving  thoughts  bring 
you  near  enough  for  accurate  observation. 
Tell  your  wives,  then,  men  in  trouble,  all 
about  your  affairs !  Keep  nothing  back. 
The  better  they  understand  the  matter,  the 
clearer  will  be  their  perceptions." 

"All  a  very  fine  theory,"  said  Aaron  Lit- 
tle, tossing  the  newspaper  from  him  and 
leaning  back  in  his  chair.  "But  it  won't  do 
in  my  case.  Tell  Betsy !  Yes,  I'd  like  to  see 
myself  doing  it.  A  man  must  be  hard 
pushed  indeed,  when  he  goes  home  to  consult 
his  wife  on  business  affairs." 

And  so  Aaron  Little  dismissed  the  subject. 
He  was  in  considerable  doubt  and  perplexity 
of  mind.  Things  had  not  gone  well  with  him 
for  a  year  past.  Dull  business  and  bad 
debts  had  left  his  affairs  in  rather  an  unprom- 
ising condition.  He  could  not  see  his  way 


214  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

clear  for  the  future.  Taking  trade  as  it  had 
Ibeen  for  the  past  six  months,  he  could  not 
imagine  how,  with  the  resources  at  his  com- 
mand, his  maturing  payments  were  to  be 
made. 

"I  must  get  more  capital,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "That  is  plain.  And  with  more  capi- 
tal, must  come  in  a  partner.  I  don't  like 
partnerships.  It  is  so  difficult  for  two  men  to 
work  together  harmoniously.  Then  you  may 
get  entangled  with  a  rogue.  It' s  a  risky  "busi- 
ness. But  I  see  no  other  way  out  of  this 
trouble.  My  own  capital  is  too  light  for  the 
business  I  am  doing ;  and  as  a  measure  of 
safety  more  must  be  brought  in.  Lawrence 
is  anxious  to  join  me,  and  says  that  he  can 
command  ten  thousand  dollars.  I  don't  like 
him  in  all  respects;  he's  a  little  too  fond  of 
pleasure.  But  I  want  his  money  more  than 
his  aid  in  the  business.  He  might  remain  a 
silent  partner  if  he  chose.  I'll  call  and  see 
him  this  very  night,  and  have  a  little  talk  on 
the  subject.  If  he  can  bring  in  ten  thousand 
dollars,  I  think  that  will  settle  the  matter." 


TELL    YOUE    WIFE.  215 

With,  this  conclusion  in  his  mind,  Aaron 
Little  returned  home,  after  closing  his  store 
for  the  day.  Tea  being  over,  he  made  prepa- 
ration for  going  out,  with  the  intention  of 
calling  upon  Mr.  Lawrence.  As  he  reached 
his  hand  for  his  great-coat,  a  voice  seemed  to 
say  to  him : 

"  TeU  your  wife.    Talk  to  her  about  it." 

But  he  rejected  the  thought  instantly,  and 
commenced  drawing  on  his  coat. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Aaron?"  asked 
Mrs.  Little,  coming  forth  from  the  dining 
room. 

"  Out,  for  a  little  while,"  he  replied. 
"  I'll  Ibe  back  in  half  an  hour  or  so." 

"Out  where?" 

"TeU  her,  Aaron.  TeU  her  aU  about  it," 
said  the  voice,  speaking  in  his  mind. 

"Nonsense!  She  don't  understand  any 
thing  about  business.  She  can't  help  me." 
He  answered,  firmly. 

"Tell  your  wife!"  The  words  were  in 
his  mind,  and  would  keep  repeating  them- 
selves. 


216  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

"Can't  you  say  where  you're  going,  Aaron? 
Why  do  you  make  a  mystery  of  it  ?" 

"Oh,  it's  only  on  a  matter  of  business. 
I'm  going  to  see  Mr.  Lawrence." 

"Edward  Lawrence !" 

"Yes." 

"Tell  your  wife  !"  The  words  seemed  al- 
most as  if  uttered  aloud  in  his  ears. 

"What  are  you  going  to  see  him  about?" 

"Tell  her!" 

Mr.  Little  stood  irresolute.  What  good 
would  telling  her  do  ? 

"What's  the  matter,  Aaron?  You've 
been  dull  for  some  time  past.  Nothing  going 
wrong  with  you,  I  hope!"  And  his  wife 
laid  her  hand  up  jn  his  arm,  and  leaned  to- 
wards him  in  a  kind  way. 

"Nbtning  very  wrong,"  he  answered  in  an 
evasive  manner.  "Business  has  been  dull 
this  season." 

' '  Has  it  ?  r  m  sorry.  Why  didn'  t  you  tell 
me?" 

"What  good  would  that  have  done  ?" 

"It  might  have  done  a  great  deal  of  good. 


TELL    YOUE    WIFE.  217 

When  a  man's  business  is  dull,  Ms  wife 
should  look  to  the  household  expenses ;  Ibut 
if  she  knows  nothing  about  it,  she  may  go  on 
in  a  way  that  is  really  extravagant  under  the 
circumstances.  I  think  that  men  ought  al- 
ways to  tell  their  wives,  when  any  thing  is 
going  wrong." 

"You  do?" 

"  Certainly  I  do.  What  better  reason  can 
you  want  than  the  one  I  have  given  ?  If  she 
knows  that  the  income  is  reduced,  as  a  pru- 
dent wife,  she  will  endeavor  to  reduce  the 
expenses.  Hadn't  you  better  take  off  your 
coat,  and  sit  down  and  talk  with  me  a  little, 
before  you  go  to  see  Mr.  Lawrence?" 

"Mr.  Little  permitted  his  wife  to  draw  off 
his  overcoat,  which  she  took  into  the  passage 
and  replaced  on  the  hat-rack.  Then  return- 
ing into  the  parlor,  she  said : 

"Now,  Aaron,  talk  to  me  as  freely  as  you 
choose.  Don't  keep  any  thing  back.  What- 
ever the  trouble  is,  let  me  know  it  to  the  full 
extent." 

"Oh,  there's  no  very  great  trouble  yet.    I 


218  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

am  only  afraid  of  trouble.  I  see  it  coining, 
and  wish  to  keep  out  of  its  way,  Betsy." 

"That's  wise  and  prudent,"  said  his  wife. 
"Now  tell  me  why  you  are  going  to  see  Mr. 
Lawrence." 

Mr.  Little  let  his  eyes  fall  to  the  floor,  and 
eat  for  some  moments  in  silence.  Then  look- 
ing up,  he  said : 

"  The  truth  is,  Betsy,  I  must  have  more  cap- 
ital in  my  business.  There  will  be  no  getting 
on  without  it.  Now  Mr.  Lawrence  can  com- 
mand, or  at  least  says  he  can  command,  ten 
thousand  dollars.  I  think  he  would  like  to 
join  me.  He  has  said  as  much  two  or  three 
times." 

"  And  you  were  going  to  see  him  on  that 
business?" 

"I  was." 

"Don't do  it,"  said  Mrs.  Little,  emphatically. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Aaron. 

"Because  he  isn't  the  man  for  you — not  if 
he  had  twenty  thousand  dollars." 

"Because  is  no  reason,"  replied  Aaron 
Little. 


TELL    YOUK    WIFE.  219 

"The  extravagance  of  his  wife  is,"  was  an- 
swered, firmly. 

"What  do  you  know  about  her?" 

"Only  what  I  have  seen.  I've  called 
on  her  two  or  three  tunes,  and  have  noticed 
the  style  in  which  her  house  is  furnished. 
It  is  arrayed  in  palace  attire,  compared  with 
ours.  And  as  for  dress,  it  would  take  the  in- 
terest of  a  little  fortune  to  pay  her  milliner's 
and  mantua-maker'  s  bills.  No,  no,  Aaron ; 
Mr.  Lawrence  isn't  your  man,  depend  on  it. 
He'd  use  up  the  ten  thousand  dollars  in  less 
than  two  years." 

"Well,  Betsy,  that's  pretty  clear  talk," 
said  Mr.  Little,  taking  a  long  breath.  "I'm 
rather  afraid,  after  what  you  say,  that  Mr. 
Lawrence  is  not  my  man.  But  what  am  I  to 
do?"  and  his  voice  fell  into  a  troubled  tone. 
"  I  must  have  more  capital ;  or "  Mr.  Lit- 
tle paused. 

* '  Or  what  ?' '  His  wife  looked  at  him  stead- 
ily, and  without  any  sign  of  weak  anxiety. 

".Or  I  may  become  bankrupt." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  you  say  that,  Aaron," 


220  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

and  Mrs.  Little' s  voice  trembled  perceptibly. 
"But  I'm  glad  you've  told  me.  The  new 
parlor  carpet,  of  course,  I  shall  not  order." 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  the  amount  it  will  cost  can 
make  no  great  difference,"  said  Mr.  Little. 
"  The  parlor  does  look  shabby ;  and  I  know 
you've  set  your  heart  on  a  new  carpet." 

"Indeed,  and  it  will  make  a  difference, 
then,"  replied  the  little  woman  in  her  decided 
way.  "The  last  feather  breaks  the  camel's 
back.  Aaron  Little  shall  never  fail  because 
of  his  wife's  extravagance.  I  wouldn't  have 
a  new  carpet  now  if  it  were  offered  to  me  at 
half  price." 

"You  are  a  brave,  true  woman,  Betsy," 
said  Aaron,  kissing  his  wife,  in  the  glow  of  a 
new-born  feeling  of  admiration. 

"  I  hope  that  I  shall  ever  be  a  true,  brave 
wife,"  returned  Mrs.  Little;  " willing  always 
to  help  my  husband,  either  in  saving  or  in 
earning,  as  the  case  may  be.  But  let  us  talk 
more  about  your  affairs;  let  me  see  the 
trouble  nearer.  Must  you  have  ten  thousand 
dollars  right  away  ?" 


TELL    YOUR    WIFE.  221 

"  Oh,  no,  no ;  it's  not  so  Ibad  as  that.  I 
was  only  looking,  ahead,  and  seeking  to  pro- 
vide the  means  for  approaching  payments. 
I  don't  want  a  partner,  as  far  as  the  business 
itself  is  concerned.  I  don't  like  partnerships ; 
they  are  almost  always  accompanied  with  an- 
noyances or  danger.  It  was  the  money  I  was 
after ;  not  the  man." 

"The  money  would  come  dearly  at  the 
price  of  the  man,  if  you  took  Mr.  Lawrence 
for  a  partner.  At  least,  that  is  my  opinion. 
But  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say,  Aaron,  that 
you  are  in  no  immediate  danger.  May  not 
the  storm  be  weathered  Iby  reefing  sail,  as  the 
sailors  say?" 

"By  reducing  expenses?" 

"Yes." 

Mr.  Little  shook  his  head. 

"Don't  say  no  too  quickly,"  replied  his 
wife.  "Let  us  go  over  the  whole  matter  at 
home  and  at  the  store.  Suppose  two  or  three 
thousand  dollars  were  saved  in  the  year. 
What  difference  would  that  make  ?" 

"  Oh,  if  that  were  possible,  which  it  is  not, 


222  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

it  would  make  a  vast  difference  in  the  long 
run;  but  would  hardly  meet  the  difficulties 
that  are  approaching." 

"  Suppose  you  had  a  thousand  dollars  with- 
in the  next  two  months,  "beyond  what  your 
business  will  give  ?" 

"  That  sum  would  make  all  safe  for  the  two 
months.  But  where  is  the  thousand  dollars 
to  come  from,  Betsy?" 

"Desperate  diseases  require  desperate  rem- 
edies," replied  the  brave  little  woman,  in  a 
resolute  way.  "I'm  not  afraid  of  the  red 
flag." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  red  flag  ?" 

"Let  us  sell  off  our  furniture  at  auction, 
and  put  the  money  in  your  business.  It 
won't  bring  less  than  a  thousand  dollars  ;  and 
it  may  bring  two.  My  piano  alone  is  worth 
three  hundred  and  fifty.  We  can  board  for  a 
year  or  two  ;  and  when  you  get  all  right 
again,  return  to  housekeeping." 

"  We  won't  try  that  yet,  Betsy,"  said  Mr. 
Little. 

"But  something  must  be  done.    The  dis- 


TELL    YOUR    WIFE.         .  223 

ease  is  threatening,  and  my  first  prescription 
will  arrest  its  violence.  I  have  something 
more  to  propose.  It  comes  into  my  mind  this 
instant;  after  "breaking  up,  we  will  go  to 
mother' s.  You  know  she  never  wanted  us  to 
leave  there.  It  won't  cost  us  much  over  half 
what  it  does  now,  taking  rent  into  the 
account.  We  will  pay  sister  Annie  some- 
thing to  take  the  care  of  little  Eddie  and  Liz- 
zie through  the  day,  and  I  will  go  into  your 
store  as  chief  clerk." 

"  Betsy !  you're  crazy !" 

"Not  a  "bit  of  it,  Aaron;  but  a  sensible 
woman,  as  you  will  find  before  you're  a  year 
older,  if  you'll  let  me  have  my  way.  I  don't 
like  that  Hobson,  and  never  did,  as  you 
know.  I  do' nt  believe  he's  a  fair  man.  Let 
me  take  his  place,  and  you  will  make  a  clear 
saving  of  fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  year ;  and, 
may-be,  of  as  much  more." 

"I  can't  think  of  it,  Betsy.  Let  us  wait 
awhile." 

"  You  must  think  of  it,  and  we  won't  wait 
awhile,"  replied  the  resolute  wife.  "What 


224  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

is  right  to  "be  done  is  best  done  quickly.  Is 
there  not  safety  in  my  plan  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  there  is ;  but " 

"  Then  let  us  adopt  it  at  once  and  throw  all 
buts  overboard,  or,"  and  she  looked  at  him  a  lit- 
tle mischievously,  "perhaps  you  would  rather 
have  some  talk  with  Mr.  Lawrence,  first?" 

"Hang  Mr.  Lawrence!"  ejaculated  Aaron 
Little. 

"Very  well;  there  being  no  help  in  Mr. 
Lawrence,  we  will  go  to  work  to  help  our- 
selves. Self-help,  I've  heard  it  said,  is  al- 
ways the  best  help,  and  most  to  be  depended 
on.  We  may  know  ourselves  and  trust  our- 
selves ;  and  that  is  a  great  deal  more  than  we 
can  say  about  other  people.  When  shall  we 
have  the  sale?" 

"Not  so  fast,  Betsy,  not  so  fast.  I  haven't 
agreed  to  the  sale  yet.  That  would  be  to 
make  a  certain  loss.  Furniture  sold  at  auc- 
tion never  realizes  above  half  its  cost." 

"It  would  be  a  certain  gain,  Aaron,  if  it 
saved  you'^feom  bankruptcy,  with  which,  as  I 
understand  it,  you  are  threatened." 


TELL    YOUB    WIFE.  225 

"I  think,"  said  Aaron,  "we  may  get  on 
without  that.  I  like  the  idea  of  your  coming 
into  my  store  and  taking  Hobson's  place. 
All  the  money  from  retail  sales  passes  through 
his  hands,  and  he  has  it  in  his  power,  if  not 
honest,  to  rob  me  seriously.  I've  not  felt  al- 
together easy  in  regard  to  him  of  late.  Why, 
I  can  hardly  tell.  I've  seen  nothing  wrong. 
But  if  you  take  his  place,  fifteen  hundred 
dollars  will  be  saved  certainly." 

"But  if  I  have  my  house  to  keep,"  Mrs. 
Little  answered  to  this,  "  how  can  I  help  you 
at  the  store  ?  The  first  thing  in  order  is  to  get 
the  house  off  of  my  hands." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  Annie  could  be  in- 
duced to  come  and  live  with  us  for  a  few 
months  until  we  try  this  new  experiment  ?" 

"But  the  money,  Aaron;  the  money  this 
furniture  would  bring!  That's  what  I'm 
looking  after.  You  want  money  now." 

"Very  true." 

"Then  let  us  hang  out  the  red  flag.  Half- 
way measures  may  only  ruin  every  thing.  I 
know  that  mother  will  not  let  Annie  leave 

-15 


226  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

home ;  so  it's  no  use  to  think  of  it.  The  red 
flag,  Aaron — the  red  flag !  Depend  upon  it, 
that's  the  first  right  tiling  to  Ibe  done.  A 
thousand  or  fifteen  hundred  dollars  in  hand 
will  make  you  feel  like  another  person — give 
you  courage,  confidence,  and  energy." 

"You  may  "be  right,  Betsy;  "but  I  can't 
Tbear  the  thought  of  running  out  that  red  flag, 
of  which  you  talk  so  lightly." 

"Shall  I  say  coward?  Are  you  afraid  to 
do  what  common  prudence  tells  you  is 
right?" 

"I  was  afraid,  Betsy;  but  am  no  longer 
faint-hearted.  With  such  a  Ibrave  little  wife 
as  you,  to  stand  "by  my  side,  I  need  not  fear 
the  world !'.' 

In  a  week  from  that  day,  the  red  flag  was 
hung  out.  When  the  auctioneer  made  up  his 
accounts,  he  had  in  hand  a  little  over  eighteen 
hundred  dollars,  for  which  a  check  was  filled 
out  to  the  order  of  Aaron  Little.  It  came 
into  his  hands  just  at  the  right  moment,  and 
made  Mm  feel,  to  use  Ms  own  words,  "as 
easy  as  an  old  shoe."  One  week  later,  Mrs. 


TELL    TOUR    WIFE.  227 

Betsy  Little  took  the  place  of  Mr.  Holbson,  as 
chief  manager  and  cash-receiver,  in  her  hus- 
band' s  store.  There  were  some  few  signs  of 
rebellion  among  the  clerks  and  shop-girls  at 
the  beginning ;  but  Mrs.  Betsy  had  a  quick, 
steady  eye,  and  a  self-reliant  manner  that 
caused  her  presence  felt,  and  soon  made 
every  thing  subservient  to  her  will.  It  was  a 
remarkable  fact,  that  at  the  close  of  the  first 
week  of  her  administration  of  affairs,  the  cash 
receipts  were  over  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
in  excess  of  the  receipts  of  any  week  within 
the  previous  three  months. 

"Have  we  done  more  business  than  usual 
this  week?"  she  asked  of  one  clerk  and 
another ;  and  the  uniform  answer  was,  "No." 

"Then,"  said  the  lady  to  herself,  "there's 
been  foul  play  here.  No  wonder  my  hus- 
band was  in  trouble." 

At  the  end  of  the  next  week,  the  sales  came 
up  to  the  same  average,  and  at  the  end  of  the 
third  week  were  two  hundred  dollars  better 
than  before  Mrs.  Little  undertook  to  manage 
the  retail  department.  Whether  there  had 


228  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

been  "foul  play"  or  not,  Aaron  Little  could 
never  fully  determine;  but  he  was  in  no 
doubt  as  to  one  thing,  and  that  was  the  easy 
condition  of  the  money  market,  after  the 
lapse  of  half  a  year. 

For  four  or  five  months  previous  to  Mrs. 
Little's  administration  of  affairs,  he  was  on 
the  street  for  nearly  half  his  time,  during 
business  hours,  engaged  in  the  work  of 
money-raising  ;  now  his  regular  receipts  had 
got  in  advance  of  his  payments ;  so  that  his 
balance  on  the  morning  of  each  day  was  usu- 
ally in  excess  of  the  notes  to  be  lifted.  Of 
course,  he  could  give  more  attention  to  busi- 
ness ;  and,  of  course,  business  increased  and 
grew  more  profitable  under  the  improved 
system.  By  the  end  of  the  year,  to  use  his 
own  words,  he  was  "all  right."  Not  so  a 
neighbor  of  his,  who,  to  get  more  capital,  had 
taken  Mr.  Lawrence  as  a  partner.  Instead 
of  bringing  in  ten  thousand  dollars,  that 
"capitalist"  was  only  able  to  put  down  three 
thousand  ;  and  before  the  end  of  the  year  he 
had  drawn  out  six  or  seven  thousand,  and 


TELL    YOUK    WIFE.  229 

had  given  notes  of  the  firm  for  as  much  more 
in  payment  of  old  obligations.  A  failure  of 
the  house  followed  as  an  inevitable  result. 

When  the  fact  of  the  failure,  and  the  cause 
which  led  to  it,  became  known  to  Mr.  Little, 
he  remarked,  with  a  shrug : 

"I'm  sorry  for  B ,  but  he  should  have 

told  his  wife." 

"  Of  what  ?"  asked  the  person  to  whom  he 
addressed  the  remark. 

"  Of  his  want  of  more  capital,  and  intention 
to  make  a  partner  of  Lawrence." 

"What  good  would  that  have  done  ?" 

"It  might  have  saved  him  from  ruin,  as  it 
did  me." 

"You  are  mysterious,  Little." 

"Am  I?  Well,  in  plain  words:  a  year 
ago  I  was  hard  up  for  money  in  my  business, 
and  thought  of  taking  in  Lawrence.  I  told 
my  wife  about  it.  She  said,  'Don't  do  it.' 
And  I  didn't;  for  her  'Don't  do  it'  was  fol- 
lowed by  suggestions  as  to  his  wife' s  extrav- 
agance that  opened  my  eyes  a  little.  I  told 
her,  at  the  same  time,  of  my  embarrassments, 


230  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

and  she  set  her  "bright  little  head  to  work, 
and  showed  me  the  way  to  work  out  of  them. 
Before  this  I  always  had  a  poor  opinion  of 
woman' s  wit  in  matters  of  "business  ;  but  now 
I  say  to  every  man  in  trouble — 
'"Tell  your  wife!5" 


UNCLE    PHIL.'S    REMEDY.  231 


XI. 

UNCLE  PHIL.'S  REMEDY. 

"How's  Mary  ?"  asked  Uncle  PM1.  Wind- 
ham,  of  Ms  nephew,  Harry  Lester. 

"  Not  very  well,"  replied  the  young  man, 
with  a  shadowed  face. 

"I'm  sorry.  What  seems  to  be  the  matter 
with  her?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  Uncle  Phil.  She 
has  no  appetite,  and  is  weak  and  wretched 
half  her  time.' 

"  What  does  the  doctor  say?'' 

"Nothing  satisfactory.  It's  my  opinion 
that  he  doesn't  know  what  ails  her.  The 
worst  of  it  is,  she  gets  into  such  low  spirits, 
and  cries,  sometimes,  for  half  the  night." 

"That's  bad,  Harry— very  bad." 

4 '  I  know  it  is,  uncle.    Yet  what  can  I  do  2" 

"How  are  you  getting  along  in  your  "busi- 
ness ?"  asked  Uncle  Phil. 


232  HIDDEN    WINGS. 


so  well  as  I  could  desire.  Hard, 
wearisome  work  every  day,  and  yet  I  seem  to 
make  very  little  progress." 

The  young  man's  face  took  on  a  troubled 
aspect.  Uncle  Phil,  had  seen  that  look  a 
great  many  times  before,  and  now  it  set  him 
to  thinking. 

"Did  you  ever  see  the  person  who  got 
along  in  this  world  as  well  as  he  desired?" 
asked  the  old  man. 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  Uncle  Phil.,  my  desires  do 
not  take  a  very  wide  range.  But,  I  would 
like  to  see  some  fruit  of  my  labor." 

"  You  have  a  comfortable  home,  Harry,  as 
the  fruit  of  your  labor.  Isn't  that  some- 
thing?" 

"Yes.  But,  I  don't  seem  to  get  ahead. 
And  that  discourages  me.  I  work  hard 
enough,  in  all  conscience." 

Uncle  Phil,  looked  at  his  nephew  for  some 
moments,  and  then  said  : 

"Is  that  the  face  you  carry  home  every 
night,  Harry?" 

"  What  face  ?    I  don't  understand  you." 


UNCLE    PHIL.'S    EEMEDY.  233 

"  T^he  dark,  discontented  face  you  wear 
noifcr  c;-.  v 

The  eyes  of  Harry  Lester  dropped  to  the 
ground. 

"Because,  if  it  is,  I  don't  wonder  Mary  is 
sick." 

The  shadows  passed  away,  and  a  smile  lit 
up  the  young  man' s  countenance. 

' '  Ah,  that' s  tetter  !  That*  s  the  true  home- 
face.  Show  it  to  Mary,  and,  my  word  for  it, 
she'll  find  it  more  potent  than  medicine." 

"You're  a  little  facetious  to-day,  uncle," 
said  Lester. 

"Not  I ;  "but  in  sober  earnest.  I  don't  just 
know  how  it  is  ;  Ibut  I'm  afraid  that,  in  going 
home  to  Mary  at  night,  you  take  shadows  in- 
stead of  sunshine.  Now,  a  woman's  heart 
wants  sunshine.  It  cannot  grow  flowers  in 
the  dark.  Leave  your  care  and  business  anx- 
iety inside  of  your  store  when  the  doors  are 
shut  at  night,  and  bring  home  to  your  wife  a 
cheerful  spirit.  Try  the  virtue  of  a  smiling 
face,  my  boy;  and,  old  Uncle  Phil.'s  word 
for  it,  Mary  will  need  no  more  doctor's  stuff." 


234  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

It  was  just  as  the  old  man  had  supposed. 
Harry  Lester,  like  too  many  other  men  who 
permit  themselves  to  get  over-anxious  in  re- 
gard to  business  matters,  always  brought  a 
clouded  face  to  his  home  at  night.  He  used 
to  bring  light,  and  smiles,  and  cheerful 
words.  Then  it  was  different  with  Mary  from 
what  it  was  now.  Her  face  reflected  the  light 
and  smiles  that  beamed  from  his,  and  her  lips 
were  running  over  with  pleasant  talk.  Uncle 
Phil.'s  remarks  set  him  to  thinking,  and  he 
remembered  all  this.  Could  it  be  possible 
that  the  withdrawal  of  sunlight  from  his 
countenance  had  thrown  her  life  into  shadow  ? 
•  "  I  thought  she  was  more  of  a  woman  than 
that."  • 

More  of  a  woman !  Why,  is  this  all  you 
know  of  a  true  woman' s  nature  ?  You  should 
have  been  wiser  in  regard  to  her  character 
before  taking  the  happiness  of  a  wife  into 
your  keeping.  Love  cannot  grow  and  flour- 
ish if  the  sky  is  forever  clouded ;  and  love  is 
a  woman's  life. 

The  state  of  Mary's  mind,  as  well  as  the 


UNCLE    PHIL.'S    REMEDY.  235 

state  of  her  health,  were  sad  enough  to  lead 
her  husband  to  think  seriously  on  any  remedy 
that  might  be  proposed  ;  and  so  Uncle  Phil.'s 
admonition  did  not  pass  from  his  thoughts,  as 
we  have  seen  from  his  remark  touching  the 
lack  of  true  Womanliness  in  his  wife. 

"Try  the  virtue  of  a  smiling  face." 

That  was  easily  enough  said ;  but  not  so 
easily  done.  How  was  Harry  Lester  to  smile 
when  he  felt  depressed  in  mind,  and  anxious 
about  his  business  ?  He  could  smile  through 
the  day  ;  smile  in  the  face  of  his  customers  ; 
and  without  an  effort.  Did  he  think  of  that  ? 
No  ;  he  only  thought  of  the  impossibility  of 
applying  Uncle  Phil.'s  remedy. 

"Try  the  virtue  of  a  smiling  face,  my 
boy!" 

He  remembered  these  words  as  he  stood  at 
Ms  door,  and  made  a  pause  before  entering. 
Any  thing  but  a  smiling  aspect  was  the  one 
that  sat  upon  his  countenance. 

"I  will  try,"  he  answered,  with  a  kind  of 
desperate  resolution,  and,  pushing  open  the 
door,  entered  with  a  lighter  step  than  usual. 


236  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

"Oh,  is  this  you,  Mary?"  he  said,  in  a 
pleasant  way,  as  his  wife,  who  happened  to 
be  crossing  from  the  parlor,  met  him  in  the 
passage.  He  put  on  a  smile  as  he  spoke, 
and  wonderful  to  say,  a  smile  came  into 
Mary's  pale  face. 

"How  are  you,  this  evening?"  he  then 
asked,  with  a  kind  interest  that  was  unusual, 
for,  nearly  always,  his  thoughts  were  not 
home-guests,  but  wanderers  backward  amid 
the  cares  of  the  day,  or  forward  with  anxious 
hopes  into  the  morrow. 

"Better  than  I  have  felt  all  day."  And 
something  of  the  old  sweetness  played  about 
her  lips  ;  played  there  so  temptingly  that  her 
husband  could  not  repress  the  inclination  he 
felt  to  lay  upon  them  a  kiss  of  tender  feeling. 

Why,  it  seemed  as  if  a  sudden  sun-burst 
had  irradiated  the  countenance  of  Mrs.  Les- 
ter. How  long  was  it  since  a  kiss,  so  full  of 
heart- warmth  as  that,  had  been  pressed  upon 
her  lips  ?  Away  back  in  the  past,  the  time 
lay  so  far,  that  memory  was  at  fault  in  recall- 
ing it. 


UZSTCLE    PHIL.'S    KE^IEDT.  237 

Better  than  she  had.  felt  all  day !  If  this 
were  really  so,  and  we  "believe  it,  the  discov- 
ery was  made  at  the  moment. 

"lam  glad  of  it,  Mary."  And  with  his 
arm  drawn  around  her  waist — when  had  it 
been  there  before? — they  walked  back  into 
the  sitting-room. 

"You  look  in  better  spirits,  dear?"  And 
Mary's  eyes  read  his  face  all  over  with  an 
eager  interest  she  could  not  hide. 

It  was  on  the  man' s  lips  to  reply  that  he 
wasn't  aware  of  any  cause  why  he  should  feel 
in  better  spirits.  Despondency  was  such  a 
habit  with  him,  that  any  other  state  of  mind 
seemed  unusual.  Even  as  the  words  of  this 
reply  came  into  his  mind,  his  countenance 
changed.  But,  remembering  Uncle  Phil.'s 
admonition,  he  checked  himself,  and  forcing 
back  into  life  the  already  half-extinguished 
smile,  answered: 

"Do  I?" 

' '  Yes ;  in  better  spirits  than  I  have  seen 
you  for  a  long  time.  It  does  me  good  to  see 
the  sunshine  in  your  face  again." 


238  HIDDE3ST    WINGS. 

"The  sunshine  in  my  face  again,  Mary? 
Why,  has  it  been  absent  so  long  ?" 

Lester  felt  surprise,  and  showed  it  in  his 
manner. 

"Don't  let  it  go  out  again,  dear,"  said  his 
wife,  leaning  fondly  towards  him. 

"  If  it  is  so  pleasant  to  you,  Mary " 

"  Pleasant,  Harry  !  It  is  my  life.  Oh,  if  I 
could  see  your  face  wearing  the  cheerful  ex- 
pression it  wore  in  the  beginning  of  our  mar- 
ried life,  I  would  be  the  happiest  woman 
alive." 

Mrs.  Lester's  voice  lost  itself  in  a  sob  ; 
and  her  eyes  grew  dim  with  tears ;  but  the 
smile  that  lit  up  her  wan  face,  and  gave  to  it 
an  impression  of  former  beauty,  remained. 

"Business  brings  its  cares  and  anxieties, 
Mary ;  and  these  will  shadow  the  face  some- 
times." 

"I  know  it,  dear.  But,  why  not  leave 
care  and  anxious  thoughts  behind,  when  the 
day's  business  is  over?  To  sit  at  home  in 
darkness,  cannot  make  you  stronger  for  to- 
morrow's work.  It  is  enough  to  be  anxious 


UNCLE    PHIL.'S    KEMEDY.  239 

and  careful  all  day.  Evening  should  refresh 
your  mind  with  cheerfulness." 

"True  words,  Mary;  and  I  will  try  to 
profit  Iby  them.  It  does  me  good  to  see  the 
sunshine  in  your  face  again." 

"You  can  always  have  it  there  if  you 
will,"  she  answered. 

"lean?" 

"Yes;  but  only  reflected  sunshine:  lam 
like  the  moon,  and  shine  Iby  "borrowed  light. 
If  clouds  cover  your  face,  mine  must  lie  in 
darkness." 

That  was  an  evening  memorable  in  af- 
ter times,  as  the  happiest  one  they  had 
known  for  months,  if  not  for  years.  Mary's 
aspect  changed  in  an  hour  so  entirely, 
that  she  scarcely  seemed  like  the  same 
person.  A  neighbor  who  dropped  in  du- 
ring the  evening,  said:  "How  much  better 
you  look,  Mrs.  Lester!  I'm  really  glad  to 
see  it." 

"  I  feel  much  better  than  I  have  felt  for  a 
long  time,"  she  replied. 

Her  husband  looked  and  listened  in  wonder 


\ 
240  HIDDEN    WINGS. 


and  self-rebuke.  Uncle  Pliil.'s  new  remedy 
was  working  like  a  "  charm." 

"Can  it  Ibe  possible,"  lie  said  to  himself, 
"that  the  cause  of  her  low  spirits  and  failing 
health  lies  at  my  door  ?  Has  she  been  wast- 
ing like  a  plant  deprived  of  sunshine  ?  I  did 
not  dream  of  this.  Women  are  different  from 
men.  I  have  not  comprehended  my  wife." 

In  the  morning  Mrs.  Lester  looked  cheer- 
ful, and  moved  about  with  a  lightness  of  step 
to  which  she  had  been  for  months  a  stranger. 
There  was  even  warmth  in  the  cheeks  that 
had  been  colorless  so  long ;  a  warmth  that 
gave  them  an  appearance  of  roundness. 

"How  is  Mary,  to  day?"  asked  Uncle 
Phil.,  who  called  at  the  store  of  Ms  nephew. 

"  She's  better,  I  thank  you." 

"Ah!  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  Did 
yon  try  my  remedy  ?"  The  old  man  smiled, 
and  Lester  smiled  back  in  his  face. 

"Did  you  try  it?" 

"Yes." 

"And  it  acted  right?" 

"  Like  a  charm !" 


UNCLE    PHIL.'S    EEMEDY.  241 

"I  knew  it  would!"  said  the  old  man, 
gleefully.  "I  knew  it  would!  Why,  you 
moody  fellow !  you  were  killing  your  wife. 
Women  must  have  a  little  sunshine  at  home, 
or  they  will  die.  And  so  Mary  is  better, 
dear  heart !  I  was  sure  that  was  all  she 
wanted.  I  was  sure  I  had  the  right  remedy." 

"  If  there  should  be  no  relapse." 

"  Relapse  !  There  can  be  no  relapse,  un- 
less you  take  home  a  rueful  face.  Let  her  see 
you  always  cheerful  and  hopeful,  and,  my 
word  for  it,  there  will  be  no  going  back  to 
low  spirits." 

"But,  Uncle  Phil.,"  said  the  young  man, 
"how  am  I  always  to  look  cheerful  and  hope- 
ful, when  my  mind  is  burdened  with  care  ? 
It  is  requiring  of  me  a  great  deal  more,  I  am 
afraid,  than  I  can  give." 

'  *  Bid  your  worrying  all  through  the  even- 
ing ever  help  you  a  particle  on  the  next  day, 
Harry  ?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  did ;  still  I  couldn't 
help  worrying." 

"  I  know  better.    You  can  help  worrying, 

16 


242  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

if  you  will.  You  helped  it  last  night,  didn't 
you?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  you  can  help  it  to-night,  and  to-mor- 
row night,  if  you  will." 

"How?" 

"Think  of  your  wife's  health  and  happi- 
ness. That  should  "be  motive  enough,  sure- 
ly, to  cause  a  little  self-denial." 

"  Self-denial,  Uncle  Phil.!" 

"  Yes ;  for  I  think  you  must  have  a  certain 
enjoyment  in  these  moody  states,  else  you 
would  not  indulge  them  so  often.  Your  own 
reason  tells  you  that  they  are  fruitful  of  great 
harm.  But  a  deeper  reason  why  they  should 
cease  is,  that  they  involve  distrust  in  Provi- 
dence. Harry,  you  are  in  the  hands  of  one 
who  knows  your  wants,  and  who  will  see 
that  they  are  provided  for  just  in  the  degree 
that  is  best  for  your  eternal  as  well  as  your 
earthly  good.  No  anxious  care ;  no  dread  of 
coming  disaster ;  no  gloomy  distrust  or  cha- 
fing doubt  will  change  the  events  of  to-mor- 
row. They  are  to  be  ministers  of  good  to 


UNCLE    PHIL.'S    EEMEDY.  243 

you,  though  not  always  in  the  way  you  have 
desired.  Is  it  not  the  worst  of  folly,  then,  to 
sit  brooding  in  darkness  "because  the  affairs  of 
your  daily  life  do  not  shape  themselves  ac- 
cording to  yonr  short-sighted  plannings  ?  You 
can  help  this  unhappy  "brooding  over  what 
cannot  "be  changed,  and  you  must  do  it." 

"  I  will  try,"  answered  the  young  man. 

"You  must  try,  and  succeed  also.  Let 
there  Ibe  no  giving  up  or  going  "back.  Habit 
is  second  nature.  You  have  fallen  into  a  bad 
habit.  Break  it  up  with  a  vigorous  hand, 
and  go  to  work  in  the  formation  of  a  good 
habit.  After  a  while,  you  will  find  it  as  easy 
to  carry  home  a  pleasant  face  as  you  now  do 
a  clouded  one.  And  think  what  a  wonderful 
difference  it  will  make  in  your  home  !" 

When  the  day  went  down,  and  Lester 
turned  his  steps  homeward,  he  felt  the  old, 
dark  states  falling  like  funereal  drapery 
around  him.  There  had  been  nothing  in  the 
day's  business  of  an  unusually  depressing 
character.  It  had  been  a  fair  day' s  business, 
and  he  should  have  been  satisfied.  But  hav- 


244  HIDDEN    WINGS. 

ing  indulged  a  morbid  way  of  looking  at 
things  so  long,  his  mind  had  taken  on  a  dis- 
eased action,  and  now  there  was  a  troubled 
weight  on  his  feelings,  and  a  depression  of 
spirits  that  it  seemed  impossible  to  throw  off. 
Thus  it  was  with  him  when  he  ascended  the 
steps  of  his  dwelling,  and  reached  out  his 
hand  to  open  the  door. 

"  This  will  not  do,"  he  said,  pausing.  And 
he  stood  still  at  the  unopened  door  for  some 
moments.  "  I  shall  mar  every  thing." 

Then  he  descended  the  steps,  and  passed  up 
the  street. 

"  It  will  never  do  in  the  world  to  carry  this 
face  home  to  Mary.  I  must  try  and  find  a 
better  one.  What  a  firm  grip  this  fiend  of 
brooding  distrust  has  taken !  I  must  shake 
him  off,  and  I  will!"  Thus  he  talked  with 
himself,  as  he  strode  away. 

In  ten  minutes  Lester  was  back  again  at  his 
own  door ;  and  now  he  turned  the  key  and 
entered  without  hesitation.  He  had  shaken 
off  the  fiend,  and  had  a  smile,  a  kiss,  and  a 
pleasant  word  for  Mary,  which  gave  new  life 


UNCLE     PHIL.'S     REMEDY.  245 

to  her  pulses,  and  sent  the  warm  blood  in 
flushes  of  beauty  to  her  face. 

Two  applications  of  Uncle  Phil.'s  remedy 
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him  that  he  had  only  to  continue  as  he  had 
begun  to  make  certain  of  a  speedy  cure.  He 
found  the  remedy  good  for  himself  also.  His 
own  mind  had  been  diseased  as  well  as  the 
mind  of  his  wife  ;  but  now  he  felt  like  a  new 
man.  Health  was  flowing  through  his  veins, 
and  giving  him  a  sense  of  enjoyment  to  which 
he  had  been  a  stranger  for  years. 


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which  the  reverend  author  is  noted  ;  while  the  amount  of  real,  usefuJ 
knowledge  they  convey  in  a  brief  and  practical  form,  upon  a  subject  the 
Importance  of  which  is  little  understood,  is  really  surprising." 

From  the  Jf.  Y.  Intelligencer. 

"  Few  pastors  have  been  favored  with  so  large  a  measure  of  experience 
and  success  in  the  work  of  Sabbath-school  instruction  as  the  venerable 
pastor  of  St.  George's  Church.  As  the  present  volume  contains  the  re- 
sults of  the  author's  long  experience,  it  will  be  a  welcome  addition  to  our 
Sabbath-school  literature." 

From  the  N.  T.  Independent. 

"Every  Sabbath-school  teacher  should  read  it;  every  pastor  might 
profit  by  it." 

From  the  N".  Y.  Observer. 

"This  will  be  a  very  welcome  volume  to  Sunday-school  teachers,  and 
to  all  who  are  interested  in  Sunday-schools.  It  embodies  the  experience 
and  the  counsels  of  one  who,  by  his  deep  interest  in  the  cause,  and  by  a 
personal  devotion  to  the  work,  even  in  its  details,  and  by  a  success  which 
has  been  rarely  if  ever  equaled,  is  qualified  to  speak  with  great  profit 
upon  the  Important  subject.  We  have  often  made  mention  of  the  school 
at  St.  George's  church,  as  perhaps  the  largest  in  the  country,  and  as  ex- 
hibiting results,  not  only  in  the  chief  end  of  Sabbath-school  instruction 
but  in  the  great  work  of  Christian  benevolence  and  Christian  activity, 
which  are  delightful  to  contemplate.  In  these  pages  the  author  imparts 
in  a  measure,  the  secret  of  his  success.  "We  are  sure  taat  the  volume  has 
fc  great  mission  to  accomplish  for  good." 


Books  Published  by  Sheldon  &  Co. 

THE    OAKLAND    STORIES. 

By  GEORGE  B.  TAYLOB. 

Vol.  1. — Kenny.     ISmo.     Cloth.     Illustrated. 
YoL  2.— Cousin  Guy.   18mo.   Cloth.   Illustrated. 
ToL  3.— Claiborne.     18mo.     Cloth.    Illustrated. 
Price  of  each  volume  90  cents. 

From  the  Troy  Whiff. 

"The  writer,  although  by  no  means  an  imitator  of  Jacob  Abbott,  shows 
a  good  deal  of  talent  in  the  same  field." 

from  the  Boston  Journal. 

•'While  in  general  this  story  resembles  Mr.  Abbott's,  it  is  superior  to 
some  of  that  author's  later  works.  It  is  marked  by  his  best  character- 
istics— the  easy,  natural  dialogue,  wholesome,  moral  and  religious  tone, 
and  simple  explanatory  style,  without  being  tiresome  in  repetition.  It 
describes  home  scenes  and  suggests  home  amusements." 


THE    ROLLO     BOOKS. 

By  JACOB  ABBOTT. 


Hollo  Learning  to  Talk, 
Hollo  Learning  to  Read, 
Eollo  at  Work, 
Hollo  at  Play, 
Eollo  at  School, 
Hollo's  Vacation, 
Hollo's  Experiments, 


Hollo's  Museum, 
Hollo's  Travels, 
Hollo's  Correspondence, 
Hollo's  Philosophy,  Water, 
Hollo's  Philosophy,  Air, 
Hollo's  Philosophy,  Fire, 
RoUo's  Philosophy,  Sky. 


14vols.    Illustrated,  uniform  style.   16mo.    Cloth,  each  80  center 
14  vols.,  uniform  style.    18mo.,  cheap  edition  "    each  60  cento 


JBooJcs  Published  by  /Sheldon  &  Co. 
HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

By  Mrs.  THOMAS  GELDART, 

Author  of  "  Daily  Thoughts  for  a  Child,"  "  Stories  of  Scotland,"  &a 

"With  Twenty  Illustrations,  by  J.  R.  Chapin,  and  others. 

1  vol.,  16mo.     Price  90  cents. 

From,  the  Detroit  Advertiser. 

M  The  work  has  been  executed  with  rare  taste  and  judgment,  and  con. 
tains  all  the  most  important  events  in  the  history  of  England,  and  all  thai 
it  is  really  important  for  ordinary  readers  to  know." 

From  the  Philadelphia  North  American. 

"  Much  of  the  information  is  quite  curious,  and  drawn  from  recondlto 
sources." 

From  the  Baltimore  Patriot. 
•'Precisely  suited  to  the  rising  generation." 

From  the  Boston  Journal. 

"  This  work  exactly  realizes  our  idea  of  what  a  juvenile  history  should 
be.  It  is  simple  and  direct,  without  degrading  the  dignity  of  history ;  in- 
teresting, without  converting  it  into  a  romance,  and  above  all  draws  guch 
pictures  of  dress  and  manners  in  the  olden  time,  that  instead  of  a  list  of 
hard  names,  living  characters,  eating,  drinking,  and  sleeping  like  our- 
selves, walk  before  the  mind's  eye  of  the  youthful  readers.  This  work 
does  for  juveniles  what  Charles  Knight's  Popular  History  is  doing  for 
mature  readers." 

From  the  Philadelphia  City  Item. 

"  We  have  read  the  volume,  and  have  pleasure  in  commending  it  to 
public  pei  usal.  It  is  a  work  for  old  or  young,  and  it  is  so  full  of  interest 
that  no  one  will  lay  it  down  until  its  details  have  been  mastered." 

From  the  Church  Journal. 

"  A  very  pleasant,  easy,  readable  book  is  Mrs.  Geldart's  Popular  His- 
tory of  England.  She  has  had  long  practice  in  writing  for  children,  and 
it  is  such  practice  as  makes  perfect" 

From  the  Philadelphia  Christian  Instructor. 

"  We  know  of  no  History  of  England  so  well  adapted  to  prove  an  at- 
tractive and  instructive  reading-book  for  young  persons  as  the  one  before 
us.  The  style  is  very  simple,  but,  at  the  same  time,  chaste  and  elevated ; 
and,  what  is  very  important,  the  book  abounds  with  practical  lessons  for 
the  young.  Although  specially  designed  for  this  class,  it  may  be  read  with 
interest  and  profit  by  all  persons." 

From  the  New  York  News. 

"  British,  Danish,  and  Saxon  England,  from  the  conquest  of  Csesar  to 
that  of  William  the  Norman,  is  described  in  this  book  with  a  picturesque- 
ness  and  vigor  which  make  it  most  fascinating.  Designed  for  the  young 
it  has  charms  for  readers  of  every  class  and  age.  The  engravings  are  ex- 
cellent, and  give  many  drawings  of  arms,  utensils,  and  implements  of  the 
ancient  inhabitants  of  England.  It  is  rather  a  picture  than  a  history, 
fljlthough  historical  characters  are  introduced  to  give  life  and  interest  to 
!*1»  description." 


^lOS-ANGEl£f^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


^ 


ACMAY  06  1996 
\      REC'O  ID-URL 

JAN  30  19* 


,-\\\M)NIVER% 


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